


Quis Custodiet

by lostboywriting



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Drama, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, In which the Higher Planes are terrible, M/M, Mind Games, Platonic Relationships, Ship is more a perpetually evolving "it's complicated" than a romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-02 14:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 77,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11511072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostboywriting/pseuds/lostboywriting
Summary: Post-Game, Shibuya's Composer is faced with the fact that even his power is not absolute. Neku, despite his best efforts, gets stuck in the middle of it. Spoilers.





	1. see you there?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I started a long (LONG) time ago when TWEWY was first out on the DS, and just recently picked back up after realizing how much I still missed this fandom. I hope you enjoy it. Cross-posted from fanfiction.net; will be getting the next several chapters up on this site shortly.

_"Same streets.  Same crowds, too.  Yeah,  Shibuya hasn't changed a bit._

_"But still… I don't think I can forgive you yet.  You don't see it, but those few weeks were very hard for me.  Learning to trust people.  Having that trust broken._

_"Trust your partner.  And I do.  I -- can't_ forgive _you -- but I trust you.  You took care of things, right?  Otherwise Shibuya would be gone, and my world with it._

 _"Hey.  Did I mention?  I've got_ friends _now.  I'm going to see them for the first time in a week._

_"…See you there?"_

It had been strange, talking quietly to thin air, speaking words he once -- a few weeks and a lifetime ago -- would not have believed would ever come out of his mouth.  Strange, and more than a little awkward; Neku had spent years keeping things so tightly bottled up that he barely knew how to describe his thoughts and feelings to himself, much less to another person.  And least of all to a total stranger who might or might not be listening, and who might or might not even care. 

But he had turned the words over and over and over in his head for a week, and they had needed to be spoken aloud, gotten out of his mind.  So at last he had said them, on the assumption that the one for whom they were intended would probably hear, if he wanted to.  And even if he didn't, at least they would have been said.  Neku sincerely doubted that he would receive any sort of response, even if anyone _had_ listened, but he was surprised to realise, as he headed across Scramble Crossing towards Hachiko, how much better the brief speech had made him feel. 

A tad weird for talking to himself, granted, but better nonetheless… and weird, against the Alice-in-Wonderland backdrop of the last month, scarcely stood out at all. 

* * * * *

And now it was later.  The afternoon had been bright and sunny and beautiful, full of laughter -- but it had worn on, as afternoons do, and eventually everyone had gone their separate ways.   Left to his own devices, Neku found himself wandering along Shibuya's streets until he came back to Scramble Crossing.  A little ruefully, he grinned to himself.  _Whatever I do, I seem to keep ending up here, don't I?_

He had intended to head for home, but his feet appeared to have picked up minds of their own, and they carried him on a meandering route through the busy crossing until, once again, he was looking upon Hachiko's plaza.  It was a nice evening, really; too nice, he decided, to head straight home.  He'd go over to Sunshine Stationside, get himself a burger, sit and eat and watch the world go by for a little while.  _Then_ home.

The line at Sunshine wasn't too bad, and a few minutes later he was back outside, sitting on the low wall that ran around Hachiko's statue.  He did not take much notice of it when someone else sat down a short distance away; he was busy enjoying the cool evening breeze on his face, and  -- somewhat to his own horror, when he realised he was doing it -- amusing himself by trying to guess the brands of clothing that various passersby were wearing. 

More horrifying was the realisation that he actually _recognised_ a lot of the individual items, and knew not only the brands but exactly what the styles were called, and where they could be found in their respective stores.  And roughly how much they cost. 

He shook his head, blinking a few times.  _Okay.  I spent_ waaay _too much time in the Reapers' Game.  I think we've established this, thanks._ This was followed a few seconds later, however, by a wry, _Still, you've gotta admit that's kind of impressive, in a…_ very _… disturbing way.  Shiki would probably be proud._

Seeking to distract himself, he unwrapped the burger he'd bought, took a large bite, and nearly choked to death when, at a distance of roughly two feet from his ear, a light, familiar voice spoke in chiding tones:

"You know, Neku, it isn't very polite of you to say "See you there", and then just wander off to have ramen without me.  And then -- when I've taken time out of a _very_ busy schedule, mind you, to come and visit -- you come back and don't even bother to say hello.  If I didn't know better, I might think you were ignoring me." 

There was a pause, and then, "Neku, you're drawing some rather alarmed looks from the crowd.  Am I going to have to call a doctor, here?  I'm not really familiar with first aid.  It isn't generally something I'm called upon to do, you realise."  The voice grew thoughtful.  "I did take a class, once, but the only thing I really remember is how to do mouth-to-mo--"

Joshua Kiryu, also known as the more-or-less all-powerful Composer of Shibuya, stopped in midword as Neku's hand shot up and seized his collar.  "If you--" the orange-haired boy wheezed between bursts of coughing, "even -- _think_ \-- about finishing that sentence…"

"Oh, look, you _can_ breathe.  Good."  Looking down, Joshua cautiously set about prying Neku's hand loose from his shirt.  "I was only going to say," he added mildly, "that that isn't what you're supposed to do when someone's choking, anyway, so I doubt I'd be much help.  Although, of course, in _your_ case I expect medical intervention would scarcely matter -- death should hold no fears by now, hmm?  Run a few missions, fight a few Noise, and you'd be back on your feet in no time."

Neku, temporarily unable to speak, gave his erstwhile partner a sour glare.  At last the coughing fit died down, and he said, weakly, "Joshua."

"Quick on the uptake as ever, Neku."  Joshua flashed him a friendly smile.  "Good to see a few days away from the Game haven't harmed your lightning-quick reflexes."

"Yeah, yeah, hello to you too," Neku mumbled, and sat back, eyeing the other boy warily.  "What're you doing here?"

"You _did_ invite me, Neku," Joshua reminded him reproachfully.  "More or less.  My apologies for being late, of course, but I thought I'd best wait until your friends had gone home."  A teasing grin lit his face.  "They only met me _very_ briefly, and under the circumstances I doubt they would remember me as fondly as you do."

"Fond," Neku muttered under his breath, "is not really the word."

"Affectionate, then," Joshua suggested, and Neku glowered at him.

"Remind me, again, why I invited you here?"

Joshua's brows rose.  "Haven't the faintest.  I could only assume you couldn't bear to go another day without looking upon the face of your dear former partner."  Again the grin, and the sidelong glance which Neku, during his second week in the Reapers' Game, had quickly learned to dread.  "And who am I to deny you?"

Neku shook his head.  "Josh, whatever it is you're on, remind me never to try the stuff.  Ever.  It's clearly made you delusional."  One hand rose, massaging his temples for a moment; how soon he'd forgotten, he thought ruefully, the speed with which Joshua's presence tended to give him a headache.  "Seriously, why _are_ you here?  I'd've thought Shibuya's Composer would have more important things to do with his evenings than hang out by Hachiko and watch the world go by.  Particularly after everything that _happened_ in the last month.  I mean -- shouldn't you be busy --"  He waved a hand vaguely.  "Making sure all those red skull pins are gone, or something?"

Joshua's smile faded.  "So you've invited me here just to tell me to get back to work?  That's not very nice.  Anyway," he added, "the last month, as far as the RG is concerned, never happened.  _Really_ , Neku, I thought even you would have worked that out by now.  You should pay better attention."

Neku ignored the note of condescension in the other boy's voice, and said, quietly, "It's that simple?  You just -- what, snap your fingers, and it's all undone?  Your damn Conductor brainwashed the entire _city._ " 

Joshua gave a dismissive shrug.  "Which put everyone in a very… _susceptible_ mental state.  I could have managed anyway, of course, but the fact is that Megumi's tactic made it all the easier to put everything back.  All I really had to do was tell people 'this never happened,' and their own minds practically rushed to fill in the blanks."  He laughed lightly, but his expression grew pensive as he conceded, "Although I'll admit there was a bit more to it than snapping my fingers.  You were right about one thing; there are… other places I need to be.  I can't stay long."

Neku watched him cautiously.  "So why are you here at all?"

"Oh, well, it was such a heartfelt and enthusiastic invitation from you, how could I resist?"

Neku snorted.  "Right."

They sat and watched the crowds in silence for a moment, Neku's mind strangely blank.  A day ago, even a few hours ago, his head had been full of questions he wanted to ask the boy now sitting next to him.  Now that he thought about it, though, most of them boiled down to a simple and embarrassingly plaintive _Why?_   There were, admittedly, a few exceptions to that, but they could basically be summed up with the addition of: _And what the fuck is wrong with you, anyway?_

In the face of Joshua's actual presence, the chances of getting a straight answer to either of the above questions, however carefully he might phrase them, suddenly seemed laughable.  And anyway, what were you supposed to say to someone who had killed you, made your afterlife hell for three weeks, killed you _again,_ and then returned you to life and put everything back exactly as it had been -- only… much, much better -- with never a word of explanation?

Put like that, he wasn’t sure there was much that could be said.

Joshua spoke up suddenly, clearly oblivious to the confusion his appearance had caused.  "Sanae says to say hello."

"Huh?"  Neku had to think for a moment before he realised who Joshua was talking about; it was odd hearing him call the man by his first name.  "…Oh.  Mr. H?"  _Now,_ there's _somebody I've got questions for._ "How's he doing?  We -- Shiki and Beat and Rhyme and me -- tried to stop by WildKat earlier, but it was closed."

"Mm, well, things have been a little busy in the last week, and Minamimoto did trash the shop pretty thoroughly.  He hasn't really had a chance to get it cleaned up yet."

"I thought the last month never happened," Neku said shortly.  "You fixed everything else; you couldn't have fixed the café up, too?"

"I could have," Joshua said in faintly irritated tones.  "But he insists he'll do it himself.  Says it'll muck up the coffee if I start messing around with the place -- which I've told him makes no sense, but he won’t be budged."

Neku grinned at that, glad to hear that there was one small corner of Shibuya, at least, with which Joshua had not been allowed to have his way.  It had been pretty clear that the WildKat Café was Sanae Hanekoma's pride and joy, although the man seemed to regard customers as a sort of optional extra in the whole undertaking.  "Well, tell him I said hello back."

"Tell him yourself," Joshua said, nodding at something to the other side of Neku.  "He's sitting on the wall right over there."

Neku spun, but the wall was empty, and he ground his teeth as Joshua chuckled at the reaction.  "In the UG, I take it?"

"Where else?"

"Uh--"  Neku grimaced, trying not to feel slightly injured by the fact that the man he'd so recently discovered to be his idol, the artist CAT, had not bothered to show his face in the Realground.

"He's sorry he can't be _here_ ," Joshua added, as if reading Neku's thoughts, "but the last week has been a tad… interesting, in the Underground, and he's decided to be boring and follow the rules for a while."  That last was accompanied by a level glare at the empty patch of wall.  "I think he's mostly come along as a sort of chaperon, to make sure I don't go on another shooting spree.  _If_ you call two shots a spree; personally, I hardly think it qualifies -- oh, don't look at me like that, Neku," he added crossly, for Neku, despite himself, had gone a little pale at the offhand remark.  "I don't even have my gun."

"Gee, how… almost… sane of you," Neku bit out.

"I do have my moments, Neku.  Anyway," Joshua added carelessly, "it was a clean shot -- you should count yourself lucky, really."  He held up a hand, pointed at Neku's head, and pulled an invisible trigger; it took the orange-haired boy all of his self-control not to flinch as Joshua tapped him lightly on the forehead.  "You barely had a chance to feel a thing.  Well, the first time, at least."

Neku tried not to shudder at the memory which  the words and motion had conjured.  Not of pain -- loathe though he was to admit it, Joshua was right on that count -- but of freezing in place like a deer caught in headlights, paralyzed by fear, as the world had spun and a peaceful afternoon had shattered around him.  Aloud, he muttered, "You have a very strange idea of luck."

Joshua gave him a faint, knowing smile.  "And you have a very strange idea of who to trust."

Neku's face reddened slightly, and he looked away.  "You heard that too, huh?"

"You _were_ talking to me, Neku," Joshua chided, laughing softly.  "It would have been rude not to listen."  He sighed.  "Honestly, though, I do think you're making a bit too much of a fuss over the whole thing."

Neku almost spluttered at this.  "A fuss?  You _shot_ me."

Joshua's sweeping gesture took in Hachiko's plaza and, by extension, most of Shibuya.  "And you're so much worse off for it now."

"In the _head._ "

This received a strange, almost pitying look.  "And?  As I said, at least it was quick.  There are worse ways to die.  I do know these things, Neku."  The smile twisted.  " _Trust_ me on this."

" _Twice._ "

"The second time," Joshua said, suddenly cold, "doesn't count.  I offered you a chance.  It's not my fault, Neku, if you chose not to take it.  I do hope you haven't called me here just to rehash this rather tired subject?"

Neku stared fixedly across the plaza for a few seconds before saying, sullenly, "You're the one who keeps bringing it up."

Joshua shrugged.  "And you're the one who can't let a reference to it pass."

"Pass?"  Neku's voice rose.  "How am I supposed to let it _pass?_   You _ki--_ "

"Neku, dear, I'd turn the volume down a little on that next sentence, if I were you.  This isn't the Underground, we aren't invisible, and we _are_ beginning to get some funny looks."

Neku started, glancing around guiltily as, with some effort, he swallowed the burst of anger.  "…Right."

"There.  Not so difficult, is it?"

"Josh, for once in your damn life--" Neku hesitated, and then amended, "Afterlife, Composer-hood, whatever -- will you quit screwing around?  What are you really after, if things in the UG have gotten so bus--"

He stopped abruptly as something Joshua had said a minute or two earlier finally sank in.  "Wait.  Wait.  What did you mean, Mr. H has decided to _follow_ _the_ _rules_?He's--"   Neku swallowed uneasily.  "He's not _allowed_ to come to the RG?  Why?"

Joshua paused for just a fraction of a second too long before commenting, mildly, "Well, will you look at that: someone was actually listening.  I'm impressed, Neku."

"Hooray for you," Neku said flatly.  "What's happened to Mr. Hanekoma?" 

Joshua was silent for a moment before he leaned forward, rested his chin on his hands, and gave the fuming Neku an unusually solemn look.  "Nothing's happened to him.  He's fine.  As I said, though, the situation in the Underground has gotten a bit--"

"--Interesting," Neku filled in when Joshua once again hesitated.  "I heard you the first time.  Joshua, remember, please, that I don't have a Player Pin any more -- I can't read minds.  And even if I could, I'm really in no hurry to know what goes on in your head, even if you would let me see the whole picture for once.  So just tell me: what, exactly, does 'interesting' _mean_ in this context?"

"Hmm."  Joshua appeared to be staring at something that Neku could not see -- which, Neku reflected, he probably was.  At last he said, unconcernedly, "Unfortunately, I'm afraid I could get into a good deal of trouble for giving you the details.  It isn't supposed to be the concern of the RG."

 _So why did you_ mention _it?_ Neku's eyes narrowed.  _I will not strangle him.  I will not strangle him.  I will not--_ "Okay.  So now that you've got me _really_ worried -- which I'm sure wasn't your intention with that line at all -- look, I just want to know why Mr. H is stuck in the UG.  I mean, he's _C_ \--"  Neku stopped himself, remembering just in time that in the Realground, someone in the crowds might actually hear him -- and care -- if he said something like that.  "He's… got a life here."  A belated and horrible thought occurred to him.  "He _has_ got a life here, hasn't he?  He didn't d--"

Joshua waved a hand, brushing this sudden suspicion away, and Neku let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.  "No, no.  It's nothing like that, Neku.  I told you, he's fine.  There are just some rather tedious formalities we've been forced to observe, temporarily, in the aftermath of my Game with Megumi.  It's quite likely that everything will be sorted out soon."

"Uh-huh."  Neku eyed him warily, and noted that _quite likely_ was not the same thing as _definitely true_.  "And all of that means _what,_ exactly?"

Again the unsettling smile.  "Oh, probably not much at all.  Honestly, Neku, you _do_ overreact to things, don't you?  You're getting awfully worked up over nothing."

Neku ground his teeth.  "If you would actually give me a straight answer for once, instead of hinting at th--"

He stopped.  Joshua was no longer listening, if he ever had been; his head had snapped up, and he was watching the plaza's far exit -- the one which led down to the station, and to the Shibuya river -- with something like caution evident in his violet eyes.  Aloud, he said quietly, "Ah.  Time for me to be going, I'm afraid."

"Huh?"  Neku blinked at him.  "Why?  What's--"

Joshua shook his head as he hopped to his feet, taking a moment to straighten out his shirt and brush a few invisible specks of dirt off of his clothes.  And then he turned back.  "Well, goodbye, Neku."  A peculiarly rueful grin lit his face, and he added, his tone as light as ever, "It was nice knowing you.  Seriously."

"What?  Hey, what the hell is _that_ supposed to--"

\--But Joshua was gone, and Neku was raising his voice to a patch of thin air.

* * * * *

Hanekoma's first words to the Composer, as the latter returned to his usual form in the Underground, were: "Gotta tell you, boss, a little tact, once in a while, would not kill you.  Figuratively speaking."

The Composer shrugged, smiling, and did not respond to this.  Instead he nodded at the far end of the plaza, and at the two dark-clad figures that stood there.  "We've got company, I see."

"Yeah, well, if You hadn't spent quite so much time trying to get Yourself hit upside the head -- seriously, boss, what was that?"  Hanekoma raised a hand, mimicking Joshua's imaginary gunshot, and gave him a reproving look.  "You were kind of asking for it.  Phones can't look at life -- and death -- the same way you do, you know."

In his head, he heard Joshua's voice say, unrepentantly, _Yes, but it did what it was supposed to do.  Very well, too._  

Aloud, Shibuya's Composer said only, "Aww, but the look on his face--"

Hanekoma shook his head.  "Yeah, well, there's a time and a place, boss."  He did not dare to respond to the unspoken half of the message, not when they were being as closely observed as he knew they were.  Joshua -- often to the chagrin of the higher planes -- had always had a knack for shielding his mental communications from the prying minds of eavesdroppers, even eavesdroppers far more powerful than he was.  Hanekoma could manage that on a lower level, but from the beings presently watching them he would be able to keep few secrets. 

"I suppose," the Composer muttered, in a sulky voice far more suited to the stubborn child Hanekoma had once known than to the radiant immortal who now watched over Shibuya.  There were days when Hanekoma thought that Joshua had never really grown up at all, that something in him had just… stopped, at his death, despite what his soul had subsequently become.  

The angel suspected, though, that Neku Sakuraba wasn't the only one who had learned a thing or two, over the past month, about being human.  _Better late than never, I guess._   He just hoped like hell that those lessons weren't going to go to waste now.

The watchers had left their post at the far end of the plaza, were walking towards Hachiko.  "Well," Hanekoma muttered, "here they come." 

The Composer tilted his head to one side, watching the approaching figures curiously.  "This should be… interesting."

Hanekoma snorted, and said under his breath, "Only you…"  A little more loudly, he added, "Just… be good, all right, boss?  Behave."

The Composer laughed.  "When have I ever done otherwise?"

 _This_ is _going to be interesting,_ Hanekoma thought ruefully.  "Sir," he said carefully, in the vague hope that the minor formality might actually make his more-or-less-superior sit up and take notice.  "I'm dead serious.  We've been over this.  These are not people to mess with.  They're not too happy at the moment, and they're… well, they're tougher than you."

The Composer watched with a faint, fixed smile on his face as the figures drew closer.  He said nothing -- but in Hanekoma's head, Joshua's voice spoke:

_We shall see, Sanae._


	2. mixed messages

Neku quickly realised that shouting at the air was not going to have much effect, and so, in a far gloomier mood than he had been for most of the day-- or all week, for that matter-- he headed for home at last. He tried to finish his burger on the way, but found that he suddenly did not have much appetite, and so the remainder of the thing was eventually deposited in a trashcan along with his soda.

_"It was nice knowing you. Seriously."_

Right up until that point, Neku _might_ have been able to convince himself that he really had been overreacting to Joshua's vague remarks about Mr. Hanekoma; that there really was just some sort of odd protocol the UG was expected to follow after a Game of such magnitude; that Joshua had only been cryptic out of habit, or to annoy.

But if Mr. H was following protocol, then whose protocol was he following?  As far as Neku's limited understanding of the subject ran, inside Shibuya's boundaries the Composer had total control,  and Joshua was Shibuya's Composer. But Joshua hadn't looked or sounded too happy about this one: _"He's decided to be boring and follow the rules."_

And as for Joshua himself, in the last few seconds before he'd vanished, he had looked… strange. Not exactly _worried--_ Neku wasn't sure he could even picture a worried Joshua-- but definitely preoccupied, and Neku wondered what it was he had seen that had brought on the change in demeanour. _"There are… other places I need to be."_

Neku rubbed wearily at his forehead. If Joshua was in some sort of trouble, he reflected, then given that this was Joshua it was probably trouble of his own making. He'd get himself out of it, or not, but one way or the other it wasn't Neku's problem. Whatever was going on, it would be best by far not to get involved; Neku had just returned to life, and he wasn't in a hurry to get shot again.

If Mr. H was in some sort of trouble, though…

Neku stared up at the sky for a moment as he walked, remembering the day when the Reaper named Uzuki had tried to talk him into murdering Shiki. Ashamed as he was to admit it, she had nearly succeeded-- and would have done, if not for Mr. Hanekoma's timely intervention.

Neku didn't think he knew too many people who could have put Uzuki in her place without violence ultimately being involved. Her partner Kariya, yes, but largely because the two were clearly good friends-- and also, frankly, because Neku doubted that even Uzuki was _quite_ stupid enough to pick a fight with Kariya. There was a difference between being bad-tempered and being suicidal.

By contrast, she hadn't known Sanae Hanekoma from a hole in the wall; she'd mistaken him for a Player, in fact. And yet in the space of a few minutes Mr. Hanekoma had sent her packing, and had barely raised his voice in the process.

Yeah. Neku still wasn't entirely clear on who or what the man really was, but Mr. H could probably take care of himself, if anyone could.

Still… Neku would have felt better about it if he'd just had some way to know what was actually going on in the UG. A part of him couldn't help laughing at that, a little bit-- _Figures. I spent three weeks trying to get out of the damn place, and now I'm annoyed because I'm not there?_ \-- but mostly the uncertainty of it was a dull, unpleasant weight in his stomach. _I'm home. This is supposed to be_ over.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and his hand dove into his pocket to fish for his cell phone. Finding it, he snapped it open, scrolled through the list of calls received. There weren't many, and most of them had come from Shiki or Beat in the past week-- but Mr. H had called him once during the course of the Game, and Neku's phone _might_ have recorded the number.

Yup, there it was. Had to be the one; it was the only phone call Neku had received in the course of the three weeks.

Calls between the RG and the UG probably wouldn't work, weren't _supposed_ to work, but it had to be worth a shot.

_Beep._ "The number you have dialed does not exist. Please tr--"

He snapped the phone shut, muttered, "Of course it doesn't," and stuffed the thing back in his pocket. Oh well. He'd had to try.

He reached his apartment a few minutes later. His parents, unsurprisingly, weren't there; a note on the door informed him that they might not be back until very late, and he found he was obscurely glad of that. He had begun the day in an uncommonly good mood,  elated at the prospect of an afternoon with his friends, and right now he didn't feel up to explaining why that mood had vanished.

_Nothing much, Mom. Just, you know, had a chat with the ruler of Shibuya's afterlife, and he's really kind of an asshole. Also, he murdered me a month ago-- you, um, probably wouldn't remember that, though. I'm told that according to your reality it didn't happen._

Yeah… no.

He retreated to his room and slumped onto his bed, where he lay still and closed his eyes for a while. _It's been a long month._

What was really bothering him, though, he decided eventually, was not the hazy intimation that all was not well in the UG. It was the fact that Joshua had felt inclined to hint darkly about it at _him._

_I'm alive. I'm_ home. _I have actual friends now, you realise that?  We all went out for ramen today. And Rhyme kicked my butt at Tin Pin, and Beat showed off on his skateboard and told stupid jokes, and Shiki dragged me into 104 and spent an hour making me try on clothes. And in the entire afternoon,_ nobody _tried to kill us, or take anything from us, or make us play twisted,_ stupid _games with other people's souls on the line if we lost._

_If you think you're pulling me back into that, forget it._

Which was all well and good to say within the confines of his head, he thought reluctantly, but against someone who had twice had no qualms about shooting him, he doubted it would have much effect.

It didn't help that in the depths of his head, he could hear Joshua's voice, laughing:

_Rethinking your trust in me so quickly, Neku?_

* * * * *

_He woke, to emptiness. Gray space stretched off in all directions, unbroken by any landmarks._

_He turned around slowly, staring, as fear crept over him. This-- this wasn't right. He was supposed to be in his room, in his apartment, in Shibuya. Home and safe. Not… whatever this was._

_His mouth dry, he called out, "Hello?  Is anyone--"_

_"Ah, Mr. Sakuraba."_

_He spun, and found himself face to face with a tall, dark-clad figure. Beyond that, little description could be given; Neku had a vague and confused impression of beauty, of a cold sort, but the being's features were somehow indistinct. They were there, but he could not quite focus on them properly._

_The being-- he?  She? …It?  Neku wasn't sure -- nodded to him, and gave the faintest hint of a formal bow. "Welcome, Mr. Sakuraba, to what remains of Shibuya."_

_He froze, his breath catching in his throat as fear abruptly became terror. "…What?  No._ No. _That's not -- that's not possible."_

_"On the contrary," the being said calmly. "Possible, and-- in light of your recent Games-- inevitable."_

_"My recent…"  Neku shook his head, fighting down the rising panic. "No. There's some -- you've made some mistake. Joshua put everything back. He--"_

_"Joshua?" the being interrupted, frowning. "Oh, yes. The, ah, nickname_ _which your Composer prefers. A strange informality, for one of his station. Very human."  Distaste was evident in its tone. "He is being dealt with."_

_Neku stared numbly as the being continued, implacably, "But that is irrelevant. The fact is that you lost your final Game. In those circumstances--"  It shrugged. " Your entry fee is non-refundable."_

_"My entry fee?" Neku repeated blankly._

_"Shibuya, Mr. Sakuraba. Making the city's destruction… your fault."_

* * * * *

_And then he was back in the vast, dark throne room, where he had won Joshua's Game for him only to be shot for his troubles. This time, though, the throne was not empty._

_"Dreaming?_ Really, _Neku?"  And the face, half-hidden in a shroud of shimmering light, might have been unrecognisable; the voice might have changed; but that damned laugh would have been hard to mistake, after it had spent a week setting his teeth on edge. "How boringly traditional. I suppose that's humanity all over, but I did expect better from you."_

_"Let me get this straight," Neku said shortly. "_ You've _wandered into_ my _dreams. To complain that my dreams are boring. Only you, Josh."_

_"Shush, and try to pay attention, will you?  You never know where these things might be coming from."  The grin, too, was the same, Neku thought, though it was difficult to see through the light. "Anyway, don't you have a mission to get to?  Should be coming in at any moment now, I expect."_

* * * * *

He was jolted awake by the sound of his cell phone beeping. The sound was half-woven in with disjointed nightmares, and for a brief, disoriented moment before the rest of his senses reasserted themselves, he was afraid he would open his eyes upon Scramble Crossing and yet another day in the Game. Eventually it sank in, however, that his bed was a good deal softer than the Crossing's pavement, and his eyes flickered open to pitch darkness.

Nightmares forgotten, he pushed himself groggily out of bed and went to retrieve the phone from his desk, stumbling over a chair in the process-- he could swear his room had rearranged itself in his three-week absence, although it was no less of a mess than he had left it.

_1 new text message._ The glow of the cell phone's display was almost painfully bright in the darkness. Rubbing his eyes, Neku warily opened the message, wondering who could possibly think that this was a good time of night to chat.

He read the words that appeared on the screen, blinked a few times, and read them again, thinking that his tired eyes must have gotten it wrong the first time.

They hadn't. In its entirety, the message read:

_You will refrain from all contact with the Underground. That is an order. Fail to comply, and there will be consequences._

_The fates of fallen angels and over-confident Composers are not your concern._

There was no number, no form of identification.

Neku stared at it for several long seconds before sinking into his chair, leaning forward, and gently resting his forehead on his desk. _Over. This is supposed to be_ over.

_…Not your concern._

"Right up until you said that," he muttered, "I wasn't even completely sure there was anything to be concerned _about._ Thanks so much. Whoever the hell you are."

A minute or so later, he lifted his head and read the last sentence again. _Fallen angels?_

_Do I_ know _any fallen angels?_

The only person in all of this that he was really concerned about was Mr. H--

He stopped and thought this over for a few seconds, then shook his head. Mr. Hanekoma was-- well-- Mr. Hanekoma. That he was somebody special, yes, there was no question; there was a kind of aura about him that could make a person want to listen when he spoke, even when said person was as sullenly self-absorbed and disinterested in the world as Neku had been at the start of his Game. And his artwork-- CAT's artwork; though it'd had a couple weeks to sink in now, Neku still couldn't help grinning at the fact that he'd _met_ CAT-- had the same effect.

And… all right, he could make cell phone cameras take pictures of things that had happened days earlier. And he'd somehow gathered up Rhyme's soul, when she was erased, and sealed it in a pin for safe keeping and to keep Beat alive. And he watched over the Game, and could tell a Reaper-- even one as persistent as Uzuki-- to take a hike. And he was on a first-name basis with the Composer.

_Special_ didn't begin to cover it-- but Neku found it very difficult, somehow, to imagine Mr. H was an angel. He just had trouble picturing an angel who charged quite so much for one damn cup of coffee, and who clearly did not know the meaning of the words _on the house._  

Anyway, a _fallen_ angel? Coffee prices aside, he couldn't picture that, either. Neku had never met anyone else whom he'd come to trust quite so quickly or easily as Sanae Hanekoma.

But aside from Joshua (who Neku wasn't particularly concerned about anyway) there wasn't anyone else, and the note had said 'fallen angels and foolish Composers' as if they were different people. So it wasn't Joshua. So… it _had_ to be Mr. H.

Of course, barely more than a week ago he'd been convinced Mr. H had to be the Composer, though he hadn't wanted to believe it. If he'd tried to think of people he knew who _might_ have been the Composer, Joshua wouldn't even have occurred to him. But that had only been because Joshua was Joshua, and-- in Neku's limited experience-- never took a straight and simple route when a complicated and seriously screwy one would do.

On which subject, Joshua _might_ have sent the message himself, just for the sake of winding Neku up. Neku wouldn't have put it past him.

Hanekoma and fallen angels temporarily forgotten, Neku considered this.

It was possible. He hadn't wanted to think so earlier, but he'd been fresh out of an incredibly aggravating conversation with Joshua then, and had been feeling a little uncertain about things. But Joshua was the Composer. If anyone in the past month had ever had any kind of a chance against him-- and Neku wasn't entirely sure about tha -- it was probably only because he had found it amusing to let them.

The whole thing might just be one more weird, stupid, made-up game on Joshua's part, his way of saying: _Oh, you_ really _think you_ trust _me, do you?_ He might have gotten bored and decided that messing with Neku's head looked like a good way of passing the time for a few hours. Mr. H might just be busy, not stuck in the UG at all. WildKat Café might be open for business as normal in a few days.

And, well, Joshua's sense of humor _was_ demonstrably… skewed. It was not hard for Neku to imagine that another text message would show up in a day or two, this one reading: _You know, Neku, your face really is_ _priceless right about now._

It was much simpler than thinking that someone who actually had the power to rival the Composer had shown up, and Neku would really, really have liked to believe it.

_Yeah. But there's only one way to survive in this Shibuya, remember?_

He got back into bed and lay awake, staring at the ceiling, almost until dawn.

* * * * *

Eventually, however, he slept… and, eventually, woke.

…To a very hard and uncomfortable surface beneath him, and the noise of a crowd all around. _What the--?_

But even before he opened his eyes, he knew, with a too-familiar sinking in his stomach, exactly where he was. After a while, one started to recognize the symptoms.

_You know, Joshua, you're starting to make an incredibly compelling case for why I should have shot you when I had the chance._

Resignedly, Neku opened his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, looking around, though he suspected that by now he could have pointed out most of Scramble Crossing's landmarks while blindfolded. To his complete and utter lack of surprise, nobody seemed to notice a kid regaining consciousness in the middle of the street. Just to be entirely certain, though, he reached out and tried to tap someone on the shoulder; his hand passed straight through the man's arm, and he nodded glumly.

Aloud, he called, "All right. Unless I died in my sleep, would anybody care to tell me why the hell I'm here _this_ time?"

An instant later, he yelped in surprise as a too-familiar pain seared itself into his right hand, and he shut his eyes. _Oh, no. No, no, no. You have_ got _to be kidding me. This is a nightmare, right?_

Dreading what he would see, Neku cautiously unclenched his fist and opened his eyes-- but no timer, counting down the seconds he had left to live, met his sight. Instead, a line of kanji and kana, written in a small, neat, careful hand, was working its way across his palm:

_Meet me past the Acheron._


	3. chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first four chapters of this are from almost a decade ago, so I'm taking a little time as I post them to fix some formatting things and make small edits. Former Me was way... too... fond... of... ellipses.

The day after Neku Sakuraba and his friends had been returned to life and it had become clear that Shibuya was _not_ about to vanish in a fit of divine petulance, Hanekoma had gathered up every shred of his courage and gone to face the Composer for what he had fully expected would be the last time, intending to confess his sins, resign from his position and face whatever the future held.

It hadn't gone quite as expected.

_He had never before been afraid to set foot in the Room of Reckoning, and was more than a little ashamed to find the emotion overtaking him now. He had known when this started that when it ended, his life as he knew it would be over, and if he were given the last month to do over again he would make the same choices in a heartbeat, but…_

_…Nonetheless._

_Drawing a deep breath, he stepped through the entranceway and into the vast, dark hall. Joshua, seated on his great throne, looked up at his entrance, but said nothing as Hanekoma approached. As the angel opened his mouth to speak, however, the Composer held up a warning hand, forestalling the carefully thought out words._

_"Sanae. You're here about Minamimoto, I assume?"  The corners of his mouth curled upwards, into their familiar yet still slightly unsettling grin. "I wondered when we'd get to this."_

_Hanekoma shut his eyes, bowed his head, and did not bother to ask how the Composer knew. "Yes, my Lord," he said quietly. The title was strange and foreign on his tongue; it was scarcely used by anyone anymore, but surely he had lost all right to their old familiarities, and 'Sir' hardly seemed adequate either. "I cannot ask Your forgiv--"_

_"Oh, don't be silly, Sanae," Joshua interrupted him, his tone suddenly cross. "Nobody's begging anyone's forgiveness, and you aren't resigning. And you aren't being erased, or banished, or whatever else you're thinking of. I forbid it."_

_One eye opened. "My Lord--"_

_"Call me that once more, though," Joshua added levelly, "and you'll be out on your ear."_

_"Uh…"  Hanekoma coughed, opening his other eye and raising his head, though he did not quite make eye contact. After so many years, he thought, he should have had a better idea what to expect from the being before him. "Yes, Sir."_

_The Composer sighed. "Sanae, did you honestly think I would care?"_

_Hanekoma stared straight ahead. "I did help a madman try to kill You, Sir."  He felt, somehow, that this was a point which someone really ought to make._

_"And?"  He could feel the calm, unconcerned gaze boring into him. "I was of the understanding that you were trying to save Shibuya. Was I wrong?"_

_"…No, Sir."_

_"Well, then. Of course Shibuya comes first--" as if He had not been about to level the place a month ago. "I'm glad to hear you have your priorities in order."  The Composer shrugged. After a moment, he added, mildly, "You're giving me a very odd look, Sanae."_

_"Uh… sorry, Sir."  Hanekoma swallowed, and admitted, "Wasn't really how I was expecting this conversation to go."_

_Again the faint grin. "If you really insist on penance, feel free to tell the higher-ups; I'm sure they'll take care of it. Personally, I find lying to them works wonders, but whatever makes you feel better."  He waved a dismissive hand. "Tell them I said they can do whatever they like to you, as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties as Shibuya's Producer. Anything else, and they'll have to get through Me."_

_Hanekoma was silent for a long moment before saying, quietly, "Thanks, boss."_

_"I'll expect a lot of free espresso over the next few weeks, mind you."_

That last had been something of a sticking point-- his job was one thing, his life was one thing, but giving away coffee without payment ran against the very grain of Hanekoma's soul-- but half an hour of arguing later, they had hashed out a tentative discount program upon which they could both reluctantly agree, and that, Joshua had seemed to feel, had been that.

What Hanekoma had _not_ pointed out at the time was that the higher-ups were in no way bound to heed the wishes of a mere Composer. Particularly when one of their own had taken a blatantly treasonous course of action. And particularly when the Composer in question was not exactly in favor himself, at present. (Though with any luck, Hanekoma had expected, Joshua should have gotten out of his own troubles without much worse than a sharp slap on the wrist and possibly an order never, _ever_ to go near a gun again.)

Hanekoma had gone to speak to Joshua first because they'd been friends for a long time ( _and hey, what's an assassination attempt between friends?_ ) and he had felt that Joshua deserved to hear the story from him, not the higher-ups. Deserved the first swing at him, too, if that was what it came down to. But ultimately, what happened to him over this wasn't up to Joshua, and there was no way in hell that a fallen angel was going to be permitted to stay on as Shibuya's Producer.

He hadn't actually needed to tell the higher-ups. They had been watching Shibuya-- and specifically Joshua-- quite closely enough already; they had heard the conversation.

There were, however, still formalities to be observed, and shortly thereafter Joshua had received a very politely-worded message on his cell phone, beginning _We regret to inform You…_ , and going on to say that Sanae Hanekoma had officially been declared Fallen and was to be tried for his crimes, and that Shibuya would be sent a new Producer within the week.

Which was where things had gotten a little… interesting.

* * * * *

As Neku was starting home in a foul mood one week later, Joshua was still standing by Hachiko, cheerfully ignoring the knowledge that Sanae, standing next to him, was about ready to hit him over the head with something large and heavy if he spoke a word out of place. As the two dark-clad figures drew near, he raised a hand in greeting, wryly remembering the last person he'd met by the little statue. This probably wasn't going to be as much fun as that had been-- the look on Neku's face, when he'd first met his new partner, was a memory which Joshua intended to cherish for a long time-- but he could always hope. "Howdy."

Next to him, he heard Sanae give a very quiet groan. The two figures paused for a moment and glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes; out of the corner of his mouth, Sanae muttered, "Not sure that's the greeting I would have chosen, boss. Under the circumstances." 

Joshua pretended he hadn't heard.

In unison, the two inclined their heads a calculated fraction of an inch, in something that could barely have been called a bow at all. One said, very stiffly, "Greetings, Shibuya."

Joshua's lips curled up in a sweet smile at their careful expressions. Maybe this _would_ be entertaining. Not as much so as, say, making his recent proxy treat him to dinner would have been, but a moderately interesting way to kill a few minutes, nonetheless. "Call me Joshua. Please."

Again the glance between the two.  At last, the pair seemed to decide that this informality was best dealt with by pretending it hadn't happened, and one of them began, "We must request that you come with us, Composer."

"Request," Joshua asked mildly, "or order?" 

"We would prefer," the second said gravely, "that it be a request."

Joshua nodded. "Then I must respectfully decline. Things to do. I'm sure you know how it is."

Sanae's elbow hit him none too gently in the side, and the angel spoke through clenched teeth. "Boss…"

"My Producer, on the other hand, has entirely too much free time at present," Joshua added blandly. "I'm sure he'd be delighted to chat with you. Now, if there's nothing else--"

The first of the pair cleared his throat. "We would _prefer,_ " he repeated, "to make it a request. However, Composer, it will be an order if it must. Not," he added, and there was a sudden slight dryness in his tone, "that you seem particularly inclined to follow those, either."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"You were, I believe, told most emphatically to remain in the Underground," the second said.

"Ah."  Joshua tilted his head thoughtfully. "Sanae did mention it a few days ago, yes."

"And yet--"

"You ask Sanae," Joshua continued, still in mild, amiable tones, as if completely unaware that he was interrupting, "when I last did as he told me. Go on. Ask him."

"Not in the last ten minutes," the angel muttered resignedly under his breath. "I can tell you that much."

"A message _was_ sent directly to you, Shibuya."

"Really?"  Joshua frowned delicately for a moment before allowing his expression to clear. "Oh, yes. That one, I believe, was phrased as a request as well. Sanae was a bit more definite, but, as I said…"  He shrugged diffidently, letting that sentence go unfinished.

"It is generally understood," the second said levelly, "that some _requests_ are meant to be obeyed."  There was an odd, strangled sound, somewhere between a cough and a snort, from Sanae, but the angel said nothing, and the duo ignored him.

 _What do you think,_ Joshua shot cheerfully to Sanae's thoughts, secure in the knowledge that only the angel would hear. _Could we take them, if it came down to it?_

Looking over, he saw the angel's eyes widen ever so slightly, glancing heavenward as a peculiar, resigned sort of horror flashed in their depths. It was not unakin to the expression Neku had worn on the day Joshua had more or less forcibly dragged him into the little Lapin Angelique shop by A-East.

"And regrettably," the first went on, oblivious to the telepathic comment, "given your refusal to do so in this instance, Shibuya, steps must be taken to ensure that it does not happen again."

 _Personally,_ Joshua added, _I suspect we could, between the two of us. They're too hesitant by half. Not used to coming down this far. Now,_ that _would be an interesting fight. And don't pretend you wouldn't enjoy the challenge, Sanae._ (He had not missed the fact that his Producer had leapt at the opportunity to take on the other Neku in a fight, over in Tin Pin Land. Sanae was just lucky Joshua had gotten the chance to do the same, or Joshua might have been in a far less forgiving mood where certain other offenses were concerned. Admittedly it hadn't been _his,_ Joshua's, Neku, but still. Next best thing.)

Sanae gave a very brief shake of his head, nearly imperceptible but somehow, nonetheless, reproving.

Aloud, Joshua asked the first of the two, in tones of idle curiosity, "And what exactly does that entail?"  To Sanae, he conceded silently, _Of course, the real trick would be surviving the aftermath_. _Don't look like that; I'm not honestly considering it. I'd have to work up a sweat, and you know that's not really my_ thing _. I just wondered._

It was the second who answered simply, "At this moment, Composer, it entails you coming with us. One way or another." 

"And then?"

"A seal will be put in place, in the Room of Reckoning," the first said quietly. "It will keep you there-- where you should be in any event, Composer-- and in the Underground, for the time."

Joshua's lips thinned as he nodded. It was with some satisfaction, however, that he sent one more thought in his Producer's direction: _Now,_ there's _a surprise. Told you. Well, this one's up to you, Sanae… but you knew that, of course. Do try to be convincing, will you?_

* * * * *

And then, some twelve hours later, an incredibly annoyed Neku was standing in Scramble Crossing and staring at the palm of his hand. "The Acheron?"  The name rang a very, very faint bell at the back of his mind, but he couldn't say where he'd heard it.

Pain once again flared, and he sucked in a sharp breath, fingers twitching involuntarily, as another line of text began to unroll. If handwriting could look exasperated, this did.

_That's the Shibuya River to you._

And, tacked on as an afterthought a second later:

_FYI, the Acheron is a river, in Greece, which was once believed to run into the underworld. I take it we haven't studied much mythology?  There isn't time just now, but do try opening a book once in a while, Neku. It'd be nice if you could pretend to be halfway educated._

Neku blinked in tired bemusement at his now rather crowded hand. If there had been any doubt in his mind that Joshua was once again to blame for whatever was going on, that had just erased it. He couldn't think of anyone else who would go to the trouble of summoning him to the UG simply to insult his intelligence.

When a few seconds later he had not yet moved, the words vanished, to be replaced by larger and decidedly more emphatic characters:

**_Now_ ** _would be good, Neku. Some of us don't have all day._

"Ow. All right. All _right._ On my way."  He winced, rubbing at his stinging hand, and started towards Hachiko. Briefly, he considered asking what this was about, but any answer from Joshua was likely to be less than enlightening, and his hand hurt enough already. "You know, I think I liked the cell phones better," he added pointedly.

This received an immediate, surprisingly terse response:

_Bad idea. Monitored._

Neku halted dead in his tracks, the sharp pain in his hand forgotten. " _What?_ "

_Just come here, will you?  And shush._

Neku swallowed uneasily, nodded, and ran for the bus terminal at top speed. _Joshua, I_ swear _, if this is your stupid idea of a game…_

* * * * *

A short time later, he was picking his way along a dank tunnel, trying not to think about the last time he'd been here (only a week ago?  It seemed a century, and technically _had_ been a lifetime), and grimacing a little ruefully at what had, five minutes ago, been clean shoes. _You people picked a heck of a location, you know. I mean, I realise real estate's expensive, but sheesh._

At last he reached the incongruously bright and clean lounge where they had first confronted Kitaniji. Neku stared at the door in some trepidation before slowly, cautiously pushing it open.

The room was almost exactly as it had been a week ago. No sign of Joshua, but to Neku's surprise the room's second doorway, which had only appeared via mental scan the last time he'd been here, was now dimly visible as a faint, shimmering outline in the air.

Odd-- but fortunate, he supposed. He didn't have a Player Pin this time around, and he couldn't scan without one.

He stepped through, and once again found himself in the trail lined with CAT's-- Mr. Hanekoma's-- familiar and beloved murals. He glanced up at them as he walked, and, as always, couldn't help but smile. _Enjoy life, huh?  Well, I'm trying. I think I'm getting better at it._

_Josh isn't exactly helping the enjoyment factor at the moment, but, you know, I'll do my best._

On which subject, there was still no sign of Joshua, and Neku made a face. The throne room was just ahead. He'd been… kind of hoping he wouldn't have to go back there.

_"Neku?"  And that friendly, almost fond smile was on Joshua's face, lighting his violet eyes, giving no hint that he could see Neku's world breaking into pieces as he spoke. "You'd better pick up that gun."_

Shaking his head as if to dislodge the memory, Neku picked up his pace, striding along the tunnel. _What's done is done._

And he tried to ignore the small, persistent thought which said to this, _Yeah?  So why do you suppose you're back_ here _, exactly?_

Stepping into the vast, dark Room of Reckoning, he looked around, and suppressed a sigh. Sure enough, a small, slender figure stood in the distance, waiting patiently before the throne. Before _his_ throne, specifically; the figure was still too far off to see clearly in the dim, apparently sourceless light that spilled through the room, but the long, pale, tousled hair and fair skin and horrifically expensive clothes (seriously, who shopped Dragon Couture and Pegaso and then hung around in a sewer?) were recognisable even from here.

Joshua raised a hand in greeting as Neku drew near. "There you are, Neku. I must say, you made good time."

Neku folded his arms across his chest, gave his erstwhile partner a level stare, and said without preamble, "What's going on?"

Joshua's lips twisted into a faint smile. "Hello to you too."

"Joshua," Neku said firmly, "you show up in the RG with no warning. You drop all these stupid hints about problems, and Mr. Hanekoma being in some kind of trouble. Then you vanish into thin air, mid-freaking- _sentence,_ with nothing but a 'Nice knowing you.'  About eleven last night I get woken up by a text message on my cell, with no number, no name, no anything, ordering me to avoid any contact with the UG or suffer the consequences--"

He stopped. Joshua was frowning at that last, his purple eyes thoughtful. "Really."

"Yeah," Neku told him shortly. "And then a few hours later, where do I find myself?  Right back in Scramble Crossing. With you carving a goddamn mythology textbook into my hand. Josh, I'm going to say this slowly and carefully, and I would really, really like a straight answer:  What. The. _Hell_?"

Joshua appeared not to have heard this. "I see," he said at last, quietly, and shook his head. "Sorry about that, Neku," he added mildly. "I wasn't expecting them to come down on your head over my trip to the RG yesterday. Not directly. Not yet, anyway."   

"Josh. Straight answer. _Focus._ You can do this, I'm sure you can. Who's _them?_ "

" _Honestly,_ Neku."  A pained expression crossed Joshua's face. "Halfway educated?  Please?  That has to be the worst grammar that I've ever heard from you; there's no excuse f--"

Neku spoke through gritted teeth. "You know what I meant. Answer. The. Damn. Question."

"Hm."  The sound was entirely too amused-- not quite contemptuous, but definitely unimpressed. "Don't worry, Neku; you'll get your explanation. But there's one minor matter which needs to be taken care of first."

Neku opened his mouth, shut his mouth, opened it again, and sighed. "Fine. And that is?"

His gaze followed Joshua's pointing finger, and then stopped to stare.

Between himself and Shibuya's Composer, a wide band of black and white paint wove across the floor, stretching out in a curve which looked as if it ran all the way around the throne. It was made up of dozens of thin, twisting lines, twined together in patterns too complex to follow, and Neku was suddenly and uneasily reminded of the design which Sho Minamimoto had drawn in Udagawa. The design which had summoned Taboo Noise into existence-- and which had allowed the Reaper to return to life, with greater strength than he had possessed before, after Neku and Joshua had fought him.

"You'll need to step across that," Joshua informed him.

Neku eyed it for a moment, eyed Joshua for a moment, eyed Joshua's incredibly innocent expression for a moment, and took two steps backwards. "And that's going to do what, exactly?"

This received a slightly-too-sweet smile. "It's a good deal safer, on this side, Neku. Other than that, probably nothing."

 _Like hell it's safer on that side._ You're _on that side._ " _Probably_ ," Neku said in a dangerous tone.

Joshua waved a hand irritably. "Definitely nothing, then. If you insist. You did _say_ you trusted me, Neku."

 _And I'm going to live to regret that, aren't I?  Or rather, if I'm_ lucky, _I'll live to regret that._ "You, more or less. That smile you had on a moment ago?  Not so much." Once again, Neku's arms folded stubbornly across his chest. "Let's see _you_ walk across the thing."

"Ah."  Joshua sobered. "That, I'm afraid, would present a slight problem."

"Go on," Neku said levelly.

"When I say _safer,_ though, Neku, I do mean it. No-one apart from myself _should_ be aware of your presence here, yet, but stay out there and it's only a matter of time before you're noticed."

"Noticed by who?"

"By whom, Neku," Joshua corrected him absently. "That," he nodded to the band of paint, "will shield you, once you're inside it, but until then it can only do so much. I _will_ explain things, I promise you that, but I really do need you to step across first."  His smile looked slightly more genuine this time. "Just trust me, Neku."

Neku hesitated, but at last, giving Joshua and his smile a dubious look, walked forward and gingerly stepped across the line of paint.

The floor lurched underneath him, the world spun sickeningly, bright lights exploded in his vision. He staggered, doubling over and clutching at his head, and as he felt the ground collide with his shoulder he vowed-- not for the first time-- to punch Shibuya's Composer in the face at the next convenient opportunity. Unless he developed a serious death wish, this was probably not a vow on which he was ever going to make good, but hey, a guy could dream.

An instant later a hand was helping him to his feet, and he heard the mild, careless voice say, "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Neku, blinking the spots from his eyes, gave Joshua a look of intense dislike. "Why did I not shoot you when I had the chance?"

"Ah, well."  One corner of Joshua's mouth curled upward. "Answer that one and you'd win the grand prize, I expect. Do let me know if you ever figure it out."

Neku made a face at him and shrugged the steadying hand off of his shoulder, instead making for the support of one of the pillars which flanked the throne. "Anyway, I'm here. Now _talk._ "

"Somebody's cranky this morning. But-- all right. Where to begin?"  Joshua paced over to his throne and sat, giving Neku a long, appraising look.

" _Quis custodiet ipsos custodes._ Do you know the phrase?" 

"What?"  Neku stared at him, puzzled. "N…no." 

"Hm. You really ought to read more, Neku. As it's usually quoted in Latin, the question is from the Roman poet Juvenal--" A faint smirk crossed Joshua's face. "Although admittedly, Juvenal didn't use it in _quite_ the same context as it's generally used now."

_And someone could actually be expected to know this because…?_

"It translates as something like 'Who will guard the guards themselves?' or 'Who will watch over the watchers?'"  Joshua shrugged. "In other words, who has the power to see that power is not misused?  Always a good question, don't you think?"

"What I think," Neku said levelly, "is that you don't know the actual meaning of the phrase 'straight answer', do you?  Joshua, if this is just leading up to more snide comments on the state of my education--"

"Do pay attention, Neku. I'm getting there. The point is that while a Composer's powers-- within His, or Her, territory-- are _technically_ absolute, the overall hierarchy doesn't end there. There are planes beyond the RG and the UG. Their inhabitants almost never interfere directly in the affairs of the UG-- just as the UG almost never interferes directly in the RG."

Neku almost choked. "Um, Joshua?  About that last--"

This was met with a sigh. " _Almost_ never, I said. Don't interrupt. But, of course, that's part of the problem. The Higher Planes watch, always-- and they were quite curious to see, Neku, how my Game with Megumi would play out. Unfortunately, now that it's over, they've, ah…"  Joshua hesitated. "Raised some questions."

"Really?  You surprise me."

"It _is_ a bit of a surprise," Joshua agreed, oblivious to sarcasm. "They aren't ones to involve themselves. They aren't ones to explain themselves, either, but as far as I can tell…"  Something in his tone became oddly guarded. "I don't think that certain of them are entirely happy about how it turned out."

"Huh?" Neku stared at him blankly. "You didn't blow up Shibuya, or whatever you were going to do. Shades's brainwashing has all been undone. Shibuya, as far as I can see, is in surprisingly good shape. I can understand somebody being a little upset about, oh, _everything_ up to that point, but as far as the end goes, what's not to be happy about?"

"Oh, you'd be amazed," Joshua said quietly. "There are actually several problems that have been brought up, Neku. The one _you_ might want to worry about, however, is-- well-- you."

Neku gave him a long, careful look. "Me."

"That's what I said, yes. I… don't know if you realise just how strong you became, Neku, during the Game. There aren't many people in Shibuya who could survive everything you survived-- and of those, most of them never get anywhere close to their full potential, not in life. They die, they play the Game, and they come out of it a little stronger-- as they're intended to-- but if they return to life, they forget all about the UG, and the RG… simply doesn't pose the same kind of challenges."

"One of its charms," Neku said levelly. "But-- wait. _I_ remember the UG."

"Yes, well, you're a special case. As I was saying before you interrupted-- again-- you were changed far more by the Game than most people ever have the chance to be."  Joshua shrugged. "Your imagination, your soul… they've become very powerful, Neku. When you returned to life, you hung onto some things that most couldn't have. And not only that, but without even knowing you were doing it you changed things for your friends, too, allowed _them_ to remember."

"I did?"

"You did. And to be honest, the Higher Planes aren't quite sure what to do about it."

"But--" Neku blinked. "Why?  I mean, I didn't mean to do anything. I just want to get back to my life."  He rubbed wearily at his forehead, watching the sudden careful lack of expression on Joshua's face. "And that's… that's not going to happen, is it," he said flatly.

"Hard to say, at this point."  Joshua was still quiet. "But when your imagination's strong enough to start twisting reality around yourself, when you aren't even trying… well. Certain members of the Higher Planes are a bit concerned about what you might manage if you _should_ try. Or what you might do by accident. Warping reality to that extent, from the RG? Not really allowed, you see. Tends to have unpredictable consequences."

"Okay. Let me get this straight. If I _hadn't_ survived your Game, I'd have been erased. I _did_ survive your Game, and now I'm going to get in trouble for it?"

"Not for the actual feat of _survival,_ as such, Neku. Everybody's very impressed about that, I assure you."

"You know," Neku bit out, "what I meant."

Joshua drew a deep breath. "Probably, yes."

"And what's going to happen?"

"Hard to say."

" _Joshua,_ " Neku snapped, glaring at him.

Joshua gave him a bland smile. "I'm a good deal older than you, Neku. And not to put too fine a point on it, I own your soul. Technically speaking. Please don't take that tone with me."

Several responses to this came to mind, though most of them had the same basic gist. Neku bit all of them back, and glowered. "Joshua," he said as patiently as he could manage, "what's going to happen?"

"I really don't know for certain, Neku," Joshua said calmly. "It's unlikely, however, that you'll be allowed to remain in the RG."

"I see."

"Also," Joshua added, as if as an afterthought, "there's a chance Shibuya will be erased and rewritten from scratch."

"There's a _what?_ "

"I know. And after all that we went through, too."  Shaking his head, the Composer added, in a tone more rueful than upset, "Figures, doesn't it?"


	4. second chances

_Figures, doesn't it?_

The words hung in the air for a moment after Joshua had spoken them. In Neku's mind they called forth a sudden memory of the too-vivid nightmare he'd had, of gray, empty space where Shibuya should have been. It was too much to take in on short notice, and Neku stared speechlessly at Joshua for a long, frozen, horrified moment as he once again sank back to lean against the pillar that stood by the throne. He had to; his head was reeling as badly as it had when he'd first stepped across the barrier.

Joshua regarded him in expressionless silence, his violet eyes unreadable--

\--And then the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, into that weirdly affectionate smile.

"You really should see the look on your face right now, Neku. I'd take a picture, but the higher-ups are paying far too much attention to my phone at the moment. Someone would probably notice sooner or later, and that would cause problems, obviously, because you really aren't supposed to be here."

Neku drew a long, deep breath. And another. "This is all some kind of sick joke to you, isn't it? It really is."

"Enjoy the moment, Neku."

"Yeah. I don't think that's _quite_ how he meant it."

"Oh, I don't know," Joshua said. "When you get to know him, Sanae's own sense of humor is pretty skewed, sometimes." ~~~~

" _Why_ ," Neku said, far, far more levelly than he wanted to, "is Shibuya going to be erased?"

"I didn't say it would be, Neku. There's a chance, I distinctly heard myself say." He shrugged. "If you'd stopped complaining for long enough to listen to anything I said, I'm sure you would have heard it too."

"How _much_ of a chance?"

"It's… hard to say."

Neku would have killed for a psychokinesis pin right about now. Although, admittedly, there wasn't much around to use one on other than Joshua himself, and Joshua would probably not prove as simple a target to hit as Shiki once had.

Well, if he was wishing for a pin, he might as well wish for a few good, sharp traffic cones, too. Or a motorcycle. Or maybe, he thought, he could go back out to the river, find a few of the Noise that always lurked there, bring them back, and use psychokinesis on _them._ Maybe ten, fifteen minutes of being repeatedly beaten about the head with two-foot-high, slimy, sewer-dwelling frogs would be enough to get Joshua to talk.

There were at least a dozen reasons why that wouldn't work, either, even if he'd had a pin to begin with, but it was a _nice_ image, and he stared at it fixedly in his head as he prompted, patiently, "Best guess, Josh?"

"Call it fifty-fifty." Joshua paused, and then added, "Approximately."

Neku shut his eyes. "All right. And why is there such a high chance that this will happen?"

"It's not _that_ high," Joshua said dismissively. "It's just as likely it won't."

Another deep breath. Maybe… maybe he'd see if he could find some jellyfish, to go with the frogs; those things stung like absolute hell. "Fifty-fifty is pretty damned high, Joshua."

"Hm." Joshua sounded entirely too amused, and Neku opened his eyes to see the Composer regarding him curiously. "Just a week ago, Neku, you let me win our Game. You couldn't seriously have thought that the odds of Shibuya's survival were any better then."

Neku swallowed. Inasmuch as he could remember what had gone through his head during Joshua's calm, cold, quiet countdown, there had been shock, and stunned disbelief, and anger, and confusion, and hurt… and grief. Shiki and Beat were two of the closest friends he'd ever had, there was no question, but those were friendships built with only the hardships they'd shared in the Game for common ground. Whereas Joshua…

 _I_ thought _I'd finally found a friend I could relate to._

There had not been a lot of rational thought, amidst the chaos. He'd known what he _had_ to do, absolutely had to at all costs, and he'd found that he couldn't, and then he'd gotten shot. Again.

It probably didn't say good things about your life when your own death started conjuring up a sense of _déjà_ _vu_.

"I… didn't believe you'd really erase it," he said.

"You had no way of knowing that I wasn't going to," Joshua said calmly. "You couldn't have. _I_ didn't know I wasn't going to. Sanae didn't know I wasn't going to. And between the two of us, we've generally got my mental state pretty well covered."

"I can see," Neku muttered, "where someone wouldn't want to leave it up to you alone, but quit trying to change the subject. Why, _this_ time, is there a fifty percent chance that Shibuya will be wiped out?"

Joshua opened his mouth, and Neku added, levelly, "And if you say _it's hard to say_ one more time, I will personally make you eat frogs."

This received a mildly affronted look. "That, I would pay to see you try. As it happens, it _is_ hard to say; Sanae is my only direct source of information where the higher-ups are concerned, and, ah… he's not in a position to be tremendously helpful at the moment.  Though he's doing the best he can."

 "Sa-- Mr. H," Neku said cautiously.

"Mm. Oh, yes," Joshua said, as if it had just occurred to him. "You don't really know about him, do you."

"I know he's some sort of guardian for the Game. I know he's CAT. I've… kind of worked out that there's a hell of a lot more I don't know. But that's about it." But Neku swallowed, and added, "Except that-- that text message I got last night said something about fallen angels, and I wondered if that was--"

The look on Joshua's face as his eyebrows shot upwards was confirmation enough. " _Really._ Now, that's peculiar; they don't generally like to broadcast those things. To anyone. Still," and he grinned, "at least I can honestly say you didn't hear it from me first."

"Since when have _you_ cared about honesty?"

"Now, that's just hurtful, Neku."

Neku ignored this. "So… Mr. H really is a…?"

"Mm-hm. But as I said, you didn't hear that from me."

"A _fallen_ angel?"

"Mm. His own silly fault, really. He tried to interfere in my Game with Megumi."

"He--"

"The details aren't important right now, Neku," Joshua said firmly. "He was trying to protect Shibuya, in his own way. Unfortunately, when everything was over he was silly enough to let his fellow angels find out about it. I did suggest he lie through his teeth, but he's rather stubborn when he wants to be." A cross look darkened the Composer's face for a moment. "As I said, the situation's gotten a bit complicated. However, what _you_ should be worried about right now is yourself."

"And Shibuya."

"That too."

"You still haven't told me _why_ \--"

"I just told you, Neku, I can't be entirely certain," Joshua said. "But with Megumi's failed strategy, and Sanae's fooling around, and admittedly my own… cleanup efforts, afterwards-- and the risk of _your_ imagination starting to run amok, now-- Shibuya's been through a lot recently. From what I understand, some of the higher-ups-- the other angels-- are concerned that reality around here might start getting a bit unstable as a result. And that the instability will spread.

"What does that _mean?_ "

Joshua smiled faintly. "It's--"

Neku groaned, and echoed, "Hard to say," only a fraction of a second out of sync with the Composer. _I will not punch the god of Shibuya's afterlife. I will not punch the god of Shibuya's afterlife. I would like to live, thank you. I will not…_

"I don't think they're entirely positive themselves, to tell you the truth. But erasing Shibuya entirely would almost certainly eliminate whatever threat might exist, and some of them feel they'd be better off safe than sorry."

"What, that's _it?_ " Neku stared at him in disbelief. "Darn, a ward of Tokyo and a few hundred thousand people just got wiped out of existence, but hey, a danger that might or might not have existed is now _almost_ definitely gone, so oh well?"

"Pretty much." Joshua shrugged. "Personally, though, I don't think it's the solution they'll choose."

"You said it was a fifty-fifty shot."

"Really, Neku, you _do_ need to listen." Joshua's tone became pedantic. " _Approximately,_ I said. I really have no way of judging the odds, at this point, but you wanted a guess. I gave you a guess. You didn't ask what the margin of error was."

Neku blinked at him in silence a couple of times, and then stared fixedly upwards for a moment before asking, with patient dread, "What was the margin of error?"

And there was that wicked grin that generally meant Neku wasn't going to like what Joshua said next. "Oh, probably forty-nine percent or so. Maybe forty-nine and a half, tops." The grin faded as he admitted, "At present the city's chances simply aren't calculable, Neku. From what I _have_ gathered, as I said, I doubt they'll do it-- at least not without trying some other things first-- but as of yet I'm working from a picture that's far from complete."

Neku's right hand rose, pinching at the bridge of his nose in an effort to dispel the headache he could feel coming on. There was one thing, he reflected, to be said for talking to Yoshiya Kiryu at any length, and it was this: you got a _lot_ of practice at holding your temper. "Joshua, just-- just once in a while, could you say _I don't know_ like a sane and normal person?"

"Now, where would be the fun in that? Anyway, I _did_ say it was hard to be sure, but would you listen? No. You insisted on an answer. You know, Neku--" and Joshua's tone became reproving-- "You aren't the easiest person to talk to, sometimes. I hope you realise this."

And yet, what you _didn't_ get, talking to him, was enough practice at holding your temper to-- well-- actually allow you to hold your temper while talking to him. Bit of a problem, that.

" _I'm_ not the easiest--?" Neku spluttered for a moment before shaking his head and gritting his teeth in grim resolve. _No. No, I'm not even going to answer that._ Sewer frogs, jellyfish, and it was _really_ a shame that those nightmarish pink elephants they'd met once or twice were immune to psychokinesis. Not that they lived anywhere near the river anyway, but as long as he was in fantasyland…

"Well, you aren't. I just thought I ought to mention it as a point of interest; you're so taken with self-improvement these days. If you really want explanations, you _could_ stop interrupting and just let me talk. I will tell you what I think you need to know, Neku, but I am not obligated to explain myself to you any more than I care to, and this would be going much more smoothly if you would bear that in mind."

There had been some reason, Neku remembered, why only a few hours ago some part of his mind had thought it might be good, after some bizarre fashion, to see Joshua again.

He couldn't presently remember what it had been. It was a lot easier to feel halfway kindly inclined towards Shibuya's Composer when you weren't actually in the same room with him. From a distance, Neku could just about convince himself that things had turned out for the best and that maybe, somehow, everything had been meant to happen as it had, no matter what Joshua might have said at the end. That from the beginning, it had all been part of some higher plan that only Joshua could see, that none of the horrors of the last month had happened without reason.

Closer to, it was hard not to feel that yes, there _had_ been a reason, which was that the ruler of Shibuya's Underground had a really sadistic sense of humor. No higher plans, no hidden designs, no grand order to the whole thing. Just the godly equivalent of a creepy kid who liked to pull the wings off of flies when he was bored.

_And yet I trust him. Going to get me killed… but I trust him._

_Doesn't mean I have to_ like _him._

"Yeah, see, _no._ " He folded his arms over his chest stubbornly. "First off, as far as obligations go? You shot me in the head. You put me through three weeks of hell. Then you shot me again. Now you pop up out of nowhere a week later, drag me into the UG in my sleep, tell me the whole city's about to be destroyed despite everything my friends and I just went through, and--"

"Neku--"

Neku's voice rose slightly. "And act like I'm supposed to be _okay_ with this and just go along with whatever you--"

" _Neku._ " Sharply. "None of this is news, and I have to tell you, right at the moment? World's smallest violin playing over here."

Neku's hands clenched themselves into fists involuntarily as he snapped his mouth shut. For a moment the two stared at each other in silence, Neku glaring daggers in a sudden rush of anger, Joshua gazing back, calm and indifferent.

At last Joshua opened his mouth to say, very softly: "Composer, Neku. All Shibuya is rightfully Mine, to do with as I will. You're a part of Shibuya. And we could have the long version of that conversation, if you really, _really_ insist, but the short version? _Deal with it._ "

Neku stared at him speechlessly for a moment longer, the brief instant of fury draining away into a sort of strange blankness that filled his head. And then, abruptly, he pushed away from the pillar against which he had been leaning, spun, and strode back towards the tangle of lines painted on the floor.

 "Neku…" There was a definite warning note in Joshua's voice.

Neku did not turn back. "Josh, I don't know what's really going on, and frankly, even if you did give me a straight answer I'm not sure I'd believe it. But whatever the hell you want from me this time, tough. You're on your own."

"Yes, all right, Neku." From his tone of barely-concealed impatience, Joshua might have been trying to placate a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. "But you--"

Neku picked up his foot, started to step over the painted lines--

\--There was a sharp _crack,_ and he heard himself yell, and then he was flat on his back on the floor, blinking stars from his eyes and shuddering at the memory of a very brief instant of very bad pain.

Joshua cleared his throat. "Never mind."

Neku stared dazedly up at the vaulted ceiling, only dimly visible on the edges of the room's weird ambient light. Maybe, he thought, this was all just another too-vivid nightmare. Maybe he'd wake up shortly, find himself back in his room, and would be able to chalk the whole thing up to the aftereffects of an incredibly stressful month.

Maybe, while he was at it, he'd win ten million yen in some contest he didn't know he'd entered. And would find a message on his cell phone informing him that Joshua had gone on vacation to someplace far, far, _far_ away-- possibly back to whatever damn planet he'd come from, because Neku was seriously beginning to doubt he was from this one-- and had liked it so well there that he was never coming back.

Yeah. Maybe.

After a minute or two, Joshua asked mildly, "Would you like a hand getting up?"

"No. No, I'm actually kinda comfortable here, thanks."

"Suit yourself."

Grimacing, Neku shifted position enough to fold his arms behind his head. The floor really wasn't too bad. It was possible that after so many mornings spent waking up on the pavement of Scramble Crossing, _anything_ else seemed good by comparison.

Another minute or so went by before Joshua said, "I did try to warn you, Neku. The barrier there is one way. Getting out's rather more difficult than getting in."

"Right."

"Happily, there is another route out which you'll be able to take. I haven't trapped you here."

"Glad to hear it."

Another minute.

"So," Joshua said at last.

"So what?"

"Are you quite finished sulking and throwing a snit, or do you need a cookie and a pat on the head to make you feel better?"

Neku drew a deep, weary breath. "You really can't give it a rest, can you? You just can't."

"Shall I take that as a 'no' on both counts?"

"Sure. You do that."

"Fine."

More silence. There were patterns on the ceiling, Neku noticed as he gazed up into the gloom. At least, he thought they were patterns, not just light and shadows playing tricks on his eyes. They were hard to see, dark grey on black, but they were there.

"You know," Joshua said eventually, "most people about to be hit with serious trouble would be grateful for some warning, Neku."

Neku breathed a silent, humorless laugh. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"You _are_ sulking."

"No. No, I'm not. There is just really nothing that I can say to this situation, Josh, that's not going to end with you telling me to shut up and pay attention. I have been paying attention. I'm in danger. The city's in danger. Fine. Now I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me what you're actually after with all this."

"What happened to _trust your partner_ , Neku?"

"If you would actually _act_ like we were partners for once, I might."

"Neku," reprovingly, "I am the C--"

"Composer. Yeah. I'm kind of aware of that by now, thanks."

"Yes, well, if you would actually act--" Joshua began meaningfully, but Neku interrupted him again.

"Josh, just tell me what the fucking hell you want from me, or let me go so I can go stand on a street corner and shout 'Run for the hills, the end is coming' at everybody I see."

"That attitude's getting you nowhere, Neku."

"Yeah, well, neither is yours." Neku shut his eyes with an air of finality. "Look, just wake me up when you've gotten to the point, will you?"

There was a very long, very dangerous pause, and then Joshua said, in an bright, amiable tone that was very, very obviously false, "Let's try this again, shall we? I wouldn't say this conversation is going nowhere, but it _is,_ I think, heading for places which would perhaps be best put off for another day."

Neku waited, eyes still closed, and said nothing.

More silence.

"Fine," Joshua said at last, suddenly neutral. "Neku, I… could use some help here."

 _And if you'd admitted that a half an hour ago, you idiot…_ Neku nodded, very slowly. "You don't say," he said in equally neutral tones. "So what's the story? The _whole_ story."

"The whole story." There was a soft laugh, followed by a sigh, and Joshua, when he spoke again, sounded a lot less his usual self and a lot more tired. "Sanae tried to kill me, Neku."

The inward triumph at finally winning some sort of concession from Shibuya's arrogant Composer died as quickly as it had come to life, replaced by a cold, sick knot in Neku's stomach. He opened his eyes, sat up to turn and give Joshua a disbelieving stare, but there was no faint smirk on the Composer's face this time, no evil glint in his eyes suggesting that this was another of his inappropriate ideas of a joke. Only weary honesty.

"He…" Neku swallowed, thinking that he must have heard wrong. "He what?"

"You wanted to know how he fell? As I told you before," Joshua said quietly, "he was trying to protect Shibuya. He tried to talk me out of my wager with Megumi. I didn't listen. He took what steps he thought were necessary."

"But--"

Joshua's face was set, expressionless. "It was nothing personal; I don’t hold it against him. But he broke some of the highest laws that angels are bound to follow, and--" A barely detectable note of strain entered his voice. "They… wanted to take him away."

Joshua's voice was still level and almost devoid of emotion, but somehow there was a weirdly childish sound to that last. Neku found himself remembering the day Joshua had first tricked him into visiting WildKat Café, and remembering the conversation he'd had when he had cautiously broached the subject of his second partner with the café owner.

 _"See, he's a little special. He… sees things,"_ Mr. H had said. _"He saw Players and Reapers and all when he was still alive-- and when he wanted to talk about it, he came to me. There aren't many folks who'd listen, if you know what I mean. In a way,"_ and the man had grimaced ruefully, _"he's been alone all his life."_

After learning who and what Joshua really was, Neku had dismissed just about everything that had been said and done, that week, as nothing more than lies, but watching the Composer's face now he had to wonder if to that, at least, there might have been some grain of truth. _Come to think of it, he_ must _have been alive once, huh?_

One way or another, Mr. Hanekoma had been the one person Neku had met who had actually genuinely seemed to _like_ Joshua. And even for an angel, that probably took some work.  

Joshua went on, interrupting Neku's thoughts. "Of course, I'm already down a Conductor; I don't need to deal with a replacement Producer, too. So I told them, very politely, that I wasn't handing him over."

"And how did that go over?" Neku asked cautiously, biting back the observation that the present lack of a Conductor was entirely Joshua's own dumb fault.

"Ah." Joshua paused. When he spoke again, his tone was not exactly embarrassed -- Neku had trouble imagining Joshua being embarrassed about anything -- but there was a faint, rueful note to it that suggested that just about anyone else, in the same circumstances, would be feeling more than a little sheepish. "Well, I'm slightly under arrest at the moment. If that gives you some idea."

Deep breath. " _Slightly_ under arrest."

"That's what I said."

"I heard you. How are you--"

"It's mainly a question of semantics and social niceties. The higher-ups don't like to involve themselves in the UG directly. They'll sit back and watch, but a lot of them feel that getting close up and personal is beneath them. Sanae's always been an exception to that, of course; most Producers have to be, to some extent, but they're in the minority. The rest, when they _do_ have to interfere, try to be very quiet about it."

"Erasing Shibuya is considered _quiet?_ "

"Well, that's a special situation. Trying to stop reality from collapsing, and all. Whereas a rebellious Composer is, ah…" Joshua coughed. "More an inconvenience, as far as they're concerned, than an outright disaster."

"Joshua--"

"Here's the thing," Joshua said quietly. "When they do interfere, they like to work within the rules, you see. And unfortunately, Sanae's assassination attempt, however well-meant, may have given them a way to do that."

Neku waited in silence.

"They're not too happy with me at present. It's not just the question of harboring a fallen angel -- although that alone would be enough for them to kick up quite a fuss and I doubt they would be bothering so much with everything else, otherwise. Some of them feel I overstepped my limits in last month's Games."

_Aww, is murdering people frowned upon? You poor thing._

"And although Sanae was, theoretically, working _against_ me, certain of his actions did indirectly affect the outcome. Ironically, had he not betrayed me, things might have gone quite differently. I won't say I would have _lost,_ but he did change things, from well outside the rules. Which, technically…"

Joshua drew a deep breath, and Neku had a strong suspicion that he wasn't going to like whatever came next. If _Joshua_ had to stop and steel himself before spitting it out, it couldn't be good.

Before Joshua could continue, however, a new voice spoke, from somewhere in the darkness behind the throne.

"Which _technically_ gives Us the right, Composer, to declare the Game's results invalid."

Neku saw Joshua freeze, violet eyes widening slightly in the closest thing to real shock that Neku, in their brief-- yet still entirely too long-- acquaintance, had ever seen on his face. Neku himself scrambled back to his feet and spun, and found himself staring at someone very like the being from the nightmare he'd had. _There,_ but not quite possible to focus on. The effect was not quite as frightening as it had been in his dream, but it was a hell of a lot more annoying, and made his vision blur when he tried to see properly.

The being-- the angel, Neku thought, if what Joshua had said was true-- ignored Neku entirely and went on, in a voice musical but cold: "The Fallen was right. You anticipate your opponents' moves rather well, for one whose senses are so limited. Your disdain for even the simplest rules, however, does not stand you in good stead." A nod at the lines painted on the floor. "They were some clever additions the Fallen one made to your prison-- and largely of your design, I believe, not his-- but did you honestly believe We would not spot them?"

Joshua had by now recovered from the split second of uncertainty, but definite irritation showed on his face. "I'll admit I had hoped it would take you longer. What have you done with Sanae?"

"He is in custody. He is, right now, not your concern."

Joshua's expression became dangerously cross at this, but after a pause he said only, mildly, "So you do intend one more Game, then."

"Indeed, Composer," the angel told him calmly. "A rematch. With Shibuya as your opponent's fee, as it should have been last time, which will nicely avoid the issue of what to do with it."

"I thought so." A faint smile crossed Joshua's face. "Neatly done, and all without getting your hands dirty. If I win, Shibuya will effectively have been destroyed, and if I lose, it will have a new Composer-- one _you_ believe will be better capable of fixing the city's problems. And more cooperative, yes?"

The angel nodded slightly, and Joshua's smile became a faintly mischevious grin. "I might want to warn you against that last. Personally, I've found he doesn't take orders very well."

Neku was still listening to all of this in horrified bewilderment, but it was not until the amused violet gaze turned to settle on him that the last sentence clicked into place. "Wait. No. What? _No._ Um, I think there's some mista--"

Joshua's voice was quiet. "You were wondering, Neku, why you didn't take that shot? Looks like you may shortly be getting all _kinds_ of second chances. Unless, of course," and the cool stare flicked away from him, landed on the strange, indistinct form of the angel, "I've misunderstood your intentions? I would assume you're not dragging poor Megumi back from the great beyond for this. He was a good enough Conductor, but he would make a very poor Composer."

"No, Composer. You are quite correct." And now, at last, the angel's head turned, acknowledging Neku's presence for the first time. "We have no intention, Mr. Sakuraba, of forcing your hand. What unbalance exists in Shibuya does not require immediate action. The Game will begin in one week's time." A shrug. "You will be contacted with specifics at a later date. I suggest you think things over very carefully before then."

And then there was light, and then it went out, and the angel was gone. For a moment, Neku could only sit in stunned silence, blinking spots from his eyes. Then, very slowly, he turned to Joshua. "Uh. Josh?"

"Yes, Neku?"

There were so many things to say, questions to ask, profanities to shout that he didn't even know where to begin, but somewhere from out of the chaos of total mental breakdown, words arose. "You know that thing you were saying before. Quis custa… whatever. Who watches the watchers."

" _Quis custodiet ipsos custodes._ " And at a time like this, only Joshua, Neku thought, would take the time to correct another person's pronunciation of a dead language. "Yes, Neku."

"If they're watching _you_ to make sure you don't go overboard…" Neku swallowed, aware that his voice was shaking a little bit. "Um. Who's watching them to make sure _they're_ not, you know, completely freaking batshit insane?"

"Ah, well." Joshua's smile was more than a little grim. "That, my dear Neku-- that's the real question, isn't it?"


	5. sometimes you have to prioritize

"So there you have it," Joshua said mildly, after the silence had stretched out for a moment. "Not how I had intended to break the news, I'll admit, but it'll do."

Neku heard himself give a hollow laugh that did not sound entirely familiar to his own ears. " _How you'd intended._ You say that like there's some way you could have worked up to it." He had a sudden need to move, and he began to pace, shoving his hands in his pockets. He could feel it all catching up with him as adrenaline wore off; could feel his muscles about to start shaking. Probably, he thought, he should be used to all this… this… by now. Probably should have resigned himself to it the day that Joshua tore around the corner in Udagawa with a gun in his hand. Or if not then, the first time Shades had told him he'd have to play again. This wasn't actually going to stop, was it? Ever. He was going to get yanked around in circles forever, freedom and safety- and the safety of those he cared about- perpetually dangled just out of reach. "Josh, just… tell me. Do you actually care? At all?"

That soft, infuriating laugh. "Do I need to? I've got people for that."

"You won't if you keep killing them," Neku bit out.

Joshua's eyes grew faintly sullen. "Megumi made his wager willingly."

Had he? Neku wasn't sure, given the way the Game had played out, how much free will had actually meant to Shades. Maybe, after however long he had worked for Joshua, his diffidence on that subject had been a means of self-defense. Not for the first time in the past week, Neku felt a stab of uncomfortable sympathy for the now-erased Conductor. It was a safe bet that Joshua had not been the world's easiest boss to work for, and he certainly wasn't the world's safest person to defy, and yet Shades had tried. He'd tried in a messed up way that only started to make a vague, terrifying kind of sense when one considered that he  _had_ worked for Joshua for who knew how long, but he'd tried, even as he'd clearly- and just as terrifyingly- worshipped the ground Joshua walked on.

…Levitated over. Whatever.

"Yeah, well," Neku muttered. "News flash, Josh: I'm not him."

Again the laugh. "Thank you, Neku. I hadn't noticed."

Neku shook his head silently and wondered if there were any Noise nearby. The state his mind was in, he'd probably be drawing them like crazy. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to remember how it had felt to reach out with his mind, to open his senses to the city around him. There had been something strangely calming about it by the end of his time in the Game, something right about letting his mental walls down and breathing and losing the illusion that the world he saw was the only one that was real.

"You were going to be, you know."

Neku's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"If this hadn't come up," Joshua said, in a tone that suggested  _this_ was simply some mildly unpleasant obligation someone had scheduled at an inconvenient time. "I was going to be in the market for a new Conductor. It was going to be you."

For a moment Neku could only gape at him. When he did speak, his voice was choked. "And what. The.  _Hell._ Makes you think that I'd have taken that job?"

Joshua's eyebrows rose, and he propped his chin on one hand, giving Neku a look of attentive disinterest. "I don't know. What makes you think I'd have given you a choice?"

Neku set his mouth in a line and stared fixedly past the Composer of Shibuya. Deep breaths, he told himself. Count to ten. Imagine throwing a barrage of porcupines at him. Imagine that by some miracle, said porcupines  _wouldn't_  bounce off of Joshua and straight back to hit Neku squarely in the face. Breathe. "Not happening," he said flatly.

"Well, it isn't  _now,_ obviously, but it would have. You did defeat him; rightfully the post was yours."

Oh. That.

Oh, hell.

Neku's anger didn't fade, exactly, but it did step aside to make room for a more immediate concern. "On which subject."

"Hm?"

"This whole thing about…" Neku swallowed. "About defeating… you."

Joshua's tone was a study in calm. "What about it?"

"They want me to be the new Composer."

"I wouldn't necessarily say  _want._ But they do appear amenable to the idea, certainly."

"Fine. Whatever. I just want to be clear on this. Their Game- if we do have to play. If they really take Shibuya." Neku looked down and shut his eyes for a moment, trying to push back the too-vivid memories of only a week ago: the gun in his hand too heavy to hold, his arm shaking, his throat closing up. "Is winning going to mean killing you?"

"Hm." Joshua cocked his head to one side, regarded Neku thoughtfully. "I expect so- directly or otherwise. You know how it goes; you lose one of these, you forfeit-"

"-Your right to exist," Neku finished with him, dully. Give Joshua this, he thought: he spoke of his own potential demise as casually as he spoke of everyone else's. "So why'd you let  _me_ live?"

Joshua shrugged. "Lots of people get things they have no particular right to, Neku. Besides, as I noted, there was going to be a vacancy. I'm short on people at present, and you proved yourself considerably more competent than most of the ones I lost, anyway; you'd have filled the role neatly. Kariya would have sufficed in a pinch, but he's better suited to where he is, and he knows it. Besides, I don't pay in ramen."

Neku drew a deep breath and rested his head in his hands for a moment, closing his eyes again. "And that's it, is it?"

"It  _was_ a compliment, Neku. You thwarted Megumi and Sanae both, quite handily. Very few Players could have."

Neku opened his mouth to tell Joshua what he thought of that particular 'compliment,' then paused.  _Wait. What?_

_Shades, yeah, but-_

Neku lifted his head and gave Joshua a hard look. " _I_ stopped Mr. H?"

Joshua twirled a loose strand of hair around one finger, and grinned. "Well, it was a team effort, of course, but you pulled your weight. A pact is a pact, and I  _was_ restricted in power at the time- entering the Game with a weaker partner could have gotten me killed that week. Lucky for me, I had you, Mr. Escort." At Neku's continued blank stare, he added, "The Taboo Noise, Neku. You didn't think Sho worked out how to summon them by himself?"

The knot in Neku's stomach tightened, and froze, and snapped.

It would be nice, Neku thought, if the world would stop dropping this kind of thing on him for… well, at this point he'd settle for an hour or two, even. "You've got to be kidding me," he managed.

"I'm not."

"But that's- people got erased." Neku felt his thoughts starting to reel in new, horrific directions, air leaving his lungs in a rush. "Sota and Nao-  _all_ the Players that week except us.  _I_ could have- and then Shiki would have-"

"Yes," Joshua said quietly, when Neku faltered.

"And  _Mr. H…_ Mr. H did that."

"Sometimes, Neku, one has to prioritize."

Neku drew in a long, deep, shuddering breath and shut his eyes. Right now, what a part of him wanted more than anything was to pull his headphones up over his ears and retreat into isolation, detach himself from… everything. Just for a while.

The rest of him said:  _So, this is all one more stupid, unfair, earth-shattering crisis. You know how to handle those by now, right? You keep going._

_Or, you know, you fall apart and collapse in tears and get shot dead, again, by somebody you thought was a friend. There's that option too._

He scrubbed at his eyes and looked away for a moment, because hell if Joshua was going to see him cry again, and said quietly, "So what do we do about all this?"

"As of now? Unfortunately, probably not a lot. I  _had_ ideas, but they were rather dependent on the higher-ups not knowing about them, and since they worked out the trick with Sanae's barrier-" Joshua cast it a disgruntled look- "it's a safe bet that I'm going to be watched closely over the next week. I'll make what calls I can to those who might do more, but I suspect they won't be answered. As for you…" He shrugged, and a faint smile crossed his face. "I suggest you take what time you have to sort out your own priorities to your satisfaction. And get some rest. If you  _do_ decide you're going to go up against me in earnest- and if you don't want that to end the same way it did last time- you're going to need your strength." The smile curled into something speculative and sly and unsettlingly cheerful. "Don't expect I'll be as easy to take down as Megumi was."

 _Easy,_  Neku thought dully.  _Right_. He should probably have had a stronger emotional reaction to Joshua's words than the tired, resigned annoyance he currently felt, but he was about out of emotions at the moment, and out of reactions, and Joshua would probably be delighted to get a rise out of him anyway. And of course, after everything, Joshua would still put himself ahead of everyone else.

Of freaking course he would.

Neku sighed. "You know what? Fine. I'll keep that in mind. Now, how the hell do I get out of here?"

"Oh, that? That's simple. All you have to do is-"

And Joshua's smile lost its wicked edge and became the same fond, knowing thing that he'd worn as he'd stepped in front of Neku to shield him from a blast that should have killed them both- and at the same time that he spoke aloud, his voice sounded in Neku's head.  _Neku? **Trust me**._

"-Wake up."

"Wait, what-"

* * * * *

-And Neku was back at Scramble Crossing, flat on the pavement.

He picked himself up slowly, and for a long moment he just stood, staring around at everything. Shibuya was noise and light and color and crowds, even in the middle of the night. And if these- these Higher Planes had their way, it might all be gone soon.

No- there was no  _might_ , was there? It  _would_ all be gone soon, because they would take it as his entry fee. However that worked, claiming an entire district of Tokyo as a fee. Could they even  _do_ that?

He abandoned that line of questioning quickly. It was false hope. These… beings- he hesitated to call them people- were capable of arresting Joshua Kiryu. ( _Arresting Joshua._ Now,  _there_  were two words which, under practically any other circumstances, would have been in the running for the most amazingly wonderful two words ever spoken together.) Of course they could claim the entire district as a fee. They could probably pick the entire fucking city off the map and stick it in a bank vault somewhere, if they wanted to.

The question was not  _could they do that._ The question was:  _once they'd done it, could Neku get it back?_

And if he couldn't…

He pulled out his phone to check the time. One in the morning on Sunday. What were the odds Shiki would still be awake? He grimaced and typed out a hasty text: _You awake? Need to talk to you ASAP whenever you get this. Sorry about the time._

And made his way to Hachiko, and sat on the low wall, and stared at the pavement, dully, letting himself take a few minutes to just not  _think,_ until his phone rang and it was Shiki's number and he almost dropped it in his haste to answer.

No preamble: "Neku, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I…" He stared at the blinking storefront lights for a moment, lost for words now that he had her on the line. "Shiki, I'm… sorry. I shouldn't have texted you in the middle of the night. I- I panicked. Look, can I meet you at Hachiko later? Maybe for breakfast? I shouldn't… this isn't something I can actually talk about over the phone."

"Neku." A worried frown in her voice. "Where are you? You sound like you're outside."

"Uh…" He leaned back, stared up at the night sky. The city lights drowned out the stars, but they were up there. Somewhere. "I woke up at the scramble."

There was a short, sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, and he knew she'd fully understood the implications of those words. "I'll meet you at Hachiko now."

"No. No, I don't want you to have to-"

" _Neku._ " Flatly. "Be there. Give me fifteen minutes, okay?"

"But-"

A click. She'd hung up.

Neku leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.

* * * * *

She was there in ten, panting as if she'd run all the way, and she landed next to him on the wall and pulled him into a hug in one movement, whispering fiercely in his ear: "I'm  _here._ All right? It's going to be all right. Whatever this is we'll sort it out together, partner."

He held her tightly for a moment, let himself pretend that her words were true, that anything was going to be all right ever again. Then, as gently as he could, he disentangled himself from her grip and met her eyes. She stared back at him, scared and determined and stubborn. Scared for  _him,_ and that was so, so much the wrong way around, and there was absolutely nothing he could say that would make her less so.

So he got to the point, as quickly and bluntly as he could. "You need to leave Shibuya. You and Beat and Rhyme and- and Eri, and anybody you care about, Shiki, you need to get out. Out of Tokyo entirely, if you can, in the next week, and stay out for a long time. Please." He didn't think it would really work, could still hear Joshua's calm dismissal:  _You're part of Shibuya. Deal with it._ He still had to try.

"Neku," she insisted, the stubbornness in her expression redoubling. " _What's wrong?_  I'm here. Talk to me. Please."

"There's going to be another Game." He shouldn't be telling her, should have some clever excuse for convincing everyone to leave for a time. Should be sending them all on a trip to a seaside resort somewhere where they wouldn't have to know, wouldn't have to worry about anything, if only he had the money. If only he could convince them he'd be right behind them. But there wasn't time for any of that, and the words spilled out: "They're going to take Shibuya as the fee. All of Shibuya. And if I can't get it back, if I can't ki- can't defeat him, it's going to be gone. Everyone's going to be gone."

Her face was going paler and paler as he spoke, and it was a weird relief to see, to tell someone who wouldn't just wave a dismissive hand and laugh it away as if the potential erasure of hundreds of thousands of people was as serious as an afternoon playing Tin Pin. "Neku, slow down.  _Who's_ taking Shibuya? I thought we already defeated the… the one who was running things." Her brow furrowed slightly, and he could see in her eyes that her memories of that last day by the Shibuya River were hazy. By unspoken agreement, they'd said nothing of the Reaper's Game or the UG in the previous day's reunion, and now he remembered what else Joshua had said: that they shouldn't have remembered it at all. That Neku remembered because of the strength he'd gained, but that his friends only remembered because without even meaning to, he'd shifted their reality,  _made_ them remember.

Given that he'd had no idea he was doing it, he had to wonder how complete their memories actually were.

Cautiously, and hating himself for it- because anyone who  _didn't_ remember Joshua Kiryu deserved to stay in that happy state forever- he said, "We-"  _killed-_  "defeated Megumi Kitaniji. He was the Conductor. He… ran the day-to-day, yeah, but he wasn't the top brass."

Her vision cleared. "Kitaniji. That's right. Sorry, it's…" She shook her head. "I remember, but then… parts of it feel like they happened in a dream, or a very long time ago. You know?"

He wished he knew. He mumbled something noncommittal. "Do you remember what happened afterwards?"

She considered this for what seemed like a very long time, and he could see her expression clouding again. "There was a boy, I think?" she said at last, slowly. "You knew him, and he… he laughed, and then…"

She trailed off, biting her lip, her eyes troubled.

 _There was a boy and he laughed and then BANG._ "Yeah," Neku said shortly. "That's the one."

"Who was he?"

 _Question of the year._ "The boss of the guy we defeated."

"But you  _knew_ him," she repeated cautiously, her tone making it not quite a question.

Neku tucked one knee up to his chest, rested his chin on it, examined the statue of Hachiko. "We'd met. He wasn't who I thought he was."

 _Except for the bit where I thought he was the world's most arrogant, entitled pain in the ass. There? There I was_ dead on.  _Pun not freaking intended._ He still wasn't entirely sure this whole thing wasn't the most elaborate windup in the history of humanity.

He wished it  _was,_ because that would mean hundreds of thousands of lives weren't on his shoulders, and then he wished that he could at least be sure it wasn't, and then he wished he could walk out into the middle of Scramble Crossing and scream at the top of his lungs.

"So…" She hesitated. There were a thousand questions in that hesitation, and he could feel her, sitting next to him, measuring him up and down and realizing without either of them saying another word that asking would get her nowhere, because he didn't have good answers to any of them. "He's the one who brought us all back to life."

"Yeah."

"And now he's going to take all of Shibuya away as somebody's entry fee?"

"Not him.  _His_ bosses. Or… something." Neku rubbed his eyes, suddenly weary beyond belief. "The point is, you need to get out."

She was silent for a long moment. "And you?"

"I don't think I'm getting a choice."

"Because you're in the Game."

"Yeah."

"Because it's you," she said slowly. "Because Shibuya's going to be  _your_ fee."

He stared fixedly at Hachiko. "Yeah."

"But you're alive. You're  _here._ " She said it forcefully, but he thought it was less an argument against what he'd said, more a desperate hand reaching out, grasping for confirmation and reassurance.

"Yes."

"So why-"

He felt like Joshua, about to give a dismissive non-answer, and hated himself for it, but there wasn't really anything else to say. "It's complicated." And then, because he wasn't Joshua, he added, "I don't think I understand it well enough to explain. And I don't think it would make any difference if I could. I'm sorry, Shiki. I'm so sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me. You don't ever have to apologize to me, Neku. Just tell me who to throw Mr. Mew at, and I will."

He laughed then in spite of himself, and she leaned against him, bumping his arm with her elbow in a friendly fashion, and they sat for a little while with her head nestled on his shoulder and his cheek resting against the top of her head, and held hands tightly. Her hair was soft, and smelled of what was probably some terribly fashionable shampoo that she'd saved up for, and tickled his skin in the midnight breeze.

He had to get through this. Two hundred thousand people in Shibuya, and all of them had people they cared about, and people who cared about them. How many had someone they called at one in the morning when they were afraid and lost, who would sneak out of their apartments and run across town in the middle of the night just to sit with them and listen? And they would be gone, they would all be snuffed out, and they would never know…

"I'll try to find an excuse to get Eri out," Shiki said at last, in the tones of one who had considered things carefully and arrived at a conclusion from which she would not be budged. "It might save her."

Neku tensed, the momentary sense of peace draining away. "You-"

"Neku, they take what you care about most," she said quietly. "If they're taking Shibuya from you, it's not just going to be the place. The restaurants and the art and-" he could feel her grin, with her leaning against him- "I  _know_ you don't care most about the fashion and the shops. Shibuya's not Shibuya without the people, and  _your_ Shibuya wouldn't be  _yours_ without us. Me and Beat and Rhyme and…" She trailed off, and when she spoke again her voice was sad, but there was pride there too. "You've changed so much since I met you, Mr. Loner Psych Genius."

"But-"

"Neku, what'd Mr. Hanekoma tell us?"

He almost flinched. Joshua's revelations on Mr. H were still a raw wound. "It's not about trust this time, Shiki. It's not that I won't try, but this Game… it's going to be different than the others. I don't know if I  _can._ "

"It's always about trust," she said. "And the Game… it was about making us all better and stronger. It made us so much more than we had been, in the end. It made  _you…_ " She sat up, her gaze searching his face. "Neku, if you met yourself from a month ago, I don't know if the two of you would even recognize each other."

It was suddenly very hard to speak, his throat thickening. "I know."

"If you'd known what you were up against, when you started, would you have believed you could survive it all then?"

Even  _not_ knowing what he was up against, he hadn't believed he could survive it. Trust and connection and friendship were things he'd locked himself off from years earlier. But this… this wasn't the same. Learning to open himself up and risk getting hurt, that had been one thing. That had been worth it, even if he hadn't seen it at the time.

But the last Game, the one Shiki didn't now remember she'd seen- God, he was so glad she didn't remember seeing Joshua pull the trigger- hadn't been about that at all. And whether or not he'd  _survived_ that one was a far trickier question.

And that wasn't something he could talk to Shiki about, ever. Couldn't shatter her worldview like that.

"Neku." Her voice was serious, solemn. "It's about being able to change, and adapt, and grow, even when it terrifies you. And you… you have that in you." She squeezed his hand. "You'll get through. I trust you."

It was too much for her to trust him with- it was too much for anyone to trust anyone with, Neku thought. But she wasn't wrong about the fee. He wasn't who he had been, and she and Beat and Rhyme, for the person he was now, were inextricably interwoven into the bright, clashing, chaotic web of human life that made up Shibuya.

So was Joshua, but that was a whole other set of problems.

Shiki leaned her head back against his shoulder, and added quietly, "I never felt it, you know. It was like skipping between days in the Game. You and I had won, and then I blinked, and… it was later."

He shut his eyes, and nodded, and they sat in silence for a long while after that.

* * * * *

Eventually they both made their separate ways back home, Shiki having noted with forced wry cheer that if her parents caught her coming in at three in the morning, erasure might seem like the best of all possible futures. Neku assumed his own parents would be too comatose, after whatever late night they'd had, for him to be at any risk, but-

He stopped, sudden realization dawning, and groaned, and dug in the pockets of the shorts he'd been wearing when he fell into bed.

He didn't have his apartment key. He had his  _phone,_ because in the week since the Game it had become strict personal policy that he never, ever took his phone off his person except to charge it, but the various paranoia-fueled scenarios which had led to that policy had not included  _Joshua teleported me out of my apartment in the middle of the night to tell me the world was ending and that I'm the only person who can fix it because_ of course I am _, and then he couldn't be fucking bothered to put his toys back on the same shelf where he found them, leaving me locked out at three a.m._

Which in retrospect had been a completely stupid oversight on Neku's part, probably.

Of course, he hadn't gone to bed wearing his sneakers, or his headphones, and he had those.  _Great. Josh put my shoes on before he yanked me halfway across Shibuya in my sleep. That's not disturbing at all._

It was summer, and his parents were probably expecting him to sleep in, and  _they_ were both going to be out early. It was unlikely in the extreme that they would look in on him before he left. So if he waited, then tomorrow he could go back and tell someone he'd accidentally locked himself out.

It wasn't, under the circumstances, like he could reasonably expect to go back to sleep for the rest of the night anyway.

He walked, and tried not to think. His feet acted on old habits, and he didn't realize where they'd taken him until he was standing in front of the mural. When he did realize, he almost turned away, an acrid taste rising in his throat.

 _Joshua says it doesn't matter, because you were trying to protect Shibuya. From him._   _He still talks like you're a_ friend _. Gotta tell you, that's one heck of a friendship, Mr. H. I mean, I say that without a huge store of personal experience to draw on, but- guess Shiki and I are just lucky you decided to give us_ good  _advice, the day I met you. Do as I say, not as I do, huh?_

_What the hell was the point of saving her from me and me from myself, if you were just going to hand the freaking Grim Heaper a hammer and tell him to start smashing things a week later?_

_Or were you just trying to keep me alive until I partnered up with Joshua, so that if I went, the pact would take him out too?_

Under the streetlights, the splashes of color had a cold, eerie cast. Neku reached out and traced them with his fingertips, and gunfire echoed in his memory. He tried to shut out the feeling that the higher-ups had already started to claim their fee, and that the world he'd so recently woken up to had already begun to dissolve around him, piece by piece.

* * * * *

It was a cold night despite the summer heat, but eventually the sun rose. Neku's wanderings brought him back to the scramble, and he headed for 104.

His conversation with Shiki had left him with the question of what, if anything, to tell Beat. Beat… would react less calmly than Shiki had. And he probably wouldn't leave either, but he deserved the chance to try to send Rhyme away, as Shiki was trying to send Eri. Even if it wouldn't work.

 _And what about everyone who won't be given even that chance?_  his thoughts whispered in a voice that sounded annoyingly like Joshua's.  _They're less deserving, because you don't know them?_

He scowled at the pavement. He couldn't help everyone. He wasn't even sure he could help the people he cared about. It had been easier to do things for strangers when he was in the Game, by imprinting thoughts in their heads or shoving a Reaper Creeper coin around a piece of paper. In the Realground, it was trickier. Even from the Underground, though, the amount of power it would have taken to make  _everyone_ leave…

 _Everyone._ His thoughts skipped, remembering the day he and Shiki had had to convince the crowd to wear red skull pins near the scramble.  _Could_ influence on that level be done? Well- Joshua could have done it with a thought, probably, if he hadn't been locked up in his throne room. But Shiki and Neku had managed that crowd trick, shifting opinion by manipulating the brands- actually, that was day-to-day business, in the Game.

Maybe. Maybe he could do something with that. He paced faster along the sidewalk as his thoughts accelerated. What would it need? He'd need to be back in the Underground, and he'd need some sort of…  _thing_ that would have to catch on, that would send a message, and he'd need Noise to erase, which would mean he'd need a partner…

All right- stop. Problem one: he'd need to be back in the Underground. That was a pretty major problem by itself, unless he…no. His mind balked at even finishing that thought, and he set it cautiously on a back shelf, to be looked at only if everything else- absolutely everything else- had failed. And only if he could put together the world's most solid plan for what he'd do afterwards.

But Joshua had pulled him in without killing him, tonight. And Josh and Mr. H could both skip up and down at will- at least when they weren't being scrutinized too closely by the Higher Planes. Actually, Joshua had said something about that, hadn't he?  _Reapers can materialize at will_ -

-His phone was out of his pocket and he was dialing Beat before he could stop himself, regardless of the time. It was a long shot, but… "Pick up," he muttered. "Pick up, pick up, pick up…"

"Hello?" It was Rhyme, not Beat, who answered the phone, sounding sleepy and faintly puzzled. "Neku? Is something wrong?"

He winced. Rhyme, at eleven years old, would- frankly- probably receive news of Shibuya's impending possible doom more reasonably than her big brother would. But he couldn't put that weight on her shoulders, and he tried to make his voice sound normal. "Hey, Rhyme. I'm fine. Is Beat there?"

"Yeah," she said dubiously. "He's passed out on the couch. Neku…" She paused. "You know it's 6:30 in the morning, right? Are things really okay?"

He pasted on a smile, because Rhyme being Rhyme, she'd probably be able to hear it in his voice. "Yeah, Rhyme. I just… really need to talk to him, soon as I can. Can you tell him to call me back when he wakes up?"

A long pause. "Neku, what's going on?" Longer pause. "This isn't about that boy, is it?"

He froze, guiltily. "No. What boy?" _You weren't even- you were a_ squirrel  _during all that. You're not supposed to know about it. Why do_ you  _know about it?_

"The other one you were partners with. Who… Beat told me."

"Rhyme," Neku said, very carefully. "What did Beat tell you, and why would you think this was about Josh?"

There was nearly enough time to fit another whole conversation into her pause. "Because you're calling at 6:30 in the morning," she said at last, "and you sound scared."

It hit him in the stomach. He stopped abruptly, and slumped down on the nearest bench, and rested his forehead on his hand, letting out an exhausted, soundless laugh, because if that didn't sum things up... "Goddamnit, Rhyme."

"I'll wake Beat up," she said.

Beat's voice, when he picked up the phone a short time later, was groggy but determined. "Phones? Wha's happening? You OK, man?"

Neku swallowed. "Beat, I need to know more about the Reapers. What they can do. How they do it. If we met up, could you tell me what you know?" A very long shot, given Beat's tendency to forget things- or to forget to pay attention long enough to learn them in the first place- but he had to try.

"Huh? Sure, but I dunno, I was only in for like… a week before they kicked me out. Why're you-" A pause, much briefer than any of Rhyme's had been, and the grogginess vanished. "Oh, shit. Oh,  _shit,_ no. Tell me you're not dead again, Phones."

"Beat-"

"Was it that  _stupid_ prissy kid again? I swear-"

Neku pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, trying to ward off a headache, and shut his eyes as Beat went into full rant mode. Apparently Shiki's amnesia hadn't been shared with anyone else. Dammit. Of course Beat had been in the Game a lot longer, as Player and Reaper and Player again, and had had to deal with Joshua a bit more than Shiki had. It probably made sense.

Still- dammit.

When Beat finally paused for breath, Neku tried again. "Beat, listen."

"I'm telling you, Phones. You need me to punch him out, I will punch him out. I don't care  _who_ he thinks he-"

"Beat, you're not punching him out. He thinks he's the Composer, because he is. Rhyme's alive because of him. And also he shoots people who get in his way, so no. Listen, I'm not dead, okay? Can we just meet up and talk?"

"Yeah. Sure. Where are you, man?"

"Scramble."

There was a pause. "At six thirty in the morning on a Sunday?"

"Yeah."

"And… you sure you're not dead?"

"Mostly."

"Okay. Meet you at Cat Street in twenty?"

"That works. Thanks."

There was a click as Beat hung up. Wearily, Neku got back to his feet and started for Cat Street.

He had a week. He had to make it count.


	6. it's complicated

"Here's the deal," Neku said as soon as Beat was in close enough earshot that he could talk about this without passersby overhearing. Hopefully, if he jumped to the point quickly enough, he could ward off too much conversation about people getting shot. "A new group of total assholes has turned up, and they're making me play another Game, and if I lose, they say they're wiping Shibuya."

Beat, to his credit, barely paused to take this in. He let out an annoyed groan, sounding more like a student who'd been given unexpected homework than someone who'd just been told the world was about to end. "Again? Didn't we just—"

"Do this? Yeah, that was my question, too. Apparently we had an audience, and apparently they're demanding a rematch."

"Damn." Beat made a face. "Okay. You going to need a partner? 'Cause you know I'm in."

And there, Neku thought, was the reason Rhyme had run in front of a car— and leapt into a shark's jaws— for her older brother. Whatever his faults, Beat would charge into danger without hesitation for the people he cared about. Not without regret, Neku said quietly, "I think this one's solo. If they tell me otherwise, you'll be the first person I call. Promise."

Beat nodded grimly. "I better be. So. Whatcha need to know about Reapers for?"

Neku sighed and explained his idea. It didn't sound any better out loud than it had in his head.

Beat listened, but his shoulders slumped when Neku said he needed to get back to the Underground without dying. "Look, I gotta be honest, Phones. You know me. I _try,_ I just… people tell me stuff, and it doesn't stick. Never has. When I was a Reaper, I didn't care about getting to the RG, 'cause I had to get Rhyme back, right? I think they just gotta _think_ RG or UG, and they're there. But I don't think it works unless you're a Reaper."

Neku nodded glumly. He hadn't really expected a useful answer. When it came down to it, he thought, he couldn't have explained to someone else how he'd scanned for Noise or used psychs. It would be like trying to explain how to breathe.

"What's this Game gonna be, anyway?" Beat asked suspiciously. "Like the Reapers' Game? Or another shooting match against the stupid prissy kid?"

"I don't know," Neku admitted, with— perhaps— slightly less annoyance than he should have felt. _Nobody tells me anything, they just try to kill me in new and exciting ways_ had more or less become the story of his existence over the last month. "They want me to be the new Composer."

Beat's gaze sharpened. "Then you gotta take down the old one, right?"

"Yeah."

"Prissy kid?"

"Yeah."

Beat punched the air, a grin splitting his face. "Aw _right._ Payback time!"

Neku tried and failed to return the grin. He ducked his head and said nothing, and after a moment Beat said, "Aw, hell. You okay, man?"

_Do I look okay?_ At that, though, Neku did manage to grin, retreating to familiar conversational territory. "That's not _worry_ I hear, is it? Who are you, and what—"

"Shut up," Beat grumbled, but after a pause he persisted, "For serious, Phones. I dunno all of it, but I know what he did to you was screwed up. You owe him an ass-kicking."

"Don't I know it," Neku muttered.

"So what's the problem?"

Neku shrugged uncomfortably, wishing he hadn't brought up the Composer at all. "It's complicated."

"Okay. Okay, man. We all got our own stuff." Beat paused, then brightened. "Hey. Hey! Maybe I can't help you, but I got a better idea."

Neku eyed him with some trepidation. It wasn't, he was pretty sure, that Beat was stupid; Neku's mind, when the two of them had synced up in combat, had been filled with a whirl of patterns and probabilities and order out of chaos, and Beat couldn't have found his way through it if he wasn't quicker than people gave him credit for. But Beat himself had no confidence in his capability, and Neku suspected it was at least partially as a result of that that he didn't bother to think things through carefully. _Man, that's what I got Rhyme for. I'm no good at it._ Regardless of the reason, though, some of Beat's Good Ideas could be a little… off-kilter.

Then again, Neku was the one who was trying to convince several hundred thousand people to evacuate Shibuya via fashion-based telepathy, so he probably couldn't talk. "Let's hear it."

Beat grinned and jumped to his feet. "Follow me."

"Where are we going?"

"I can't answer your questions, Phones. Even if I _did_ know, I wouldn't know how to explain it. But I know who does." Beat's smile broadened. "And they _owe_ us one."

* * * * * 

Up a tangle of fire escapes and along narrow bands of concrete and metal that Neku wasn't sure had really been intended as walkways, then through a door bearing a faded "Keep Out - Maintenance Only" sign ("Don't worry, Phones, I think they only come up here, like, once or twice a year"), and up a ladder, and Neku found himself on the concrete rooftop of one of the buildings near 104. He gave Beat a dubious look. "You really think they'll be up here?"

"One way to find out." Beat shrugged and raised his voice. "Hey, Lollipop! Pinky! You here? We got some questions."

Nothing happened, for a moment. Then there was a shimmer of static, and a tall, lanky man with his hair pulled up in a messy orange mop appeared leaning against a low nearby wall, eyebrows raised as he peered at them over the tops of his glasses. A lazily wicked grin lit his face. "Well. Will ya look who's here, Uzuki? This is a _new_ one."

Neku shifted uncomfortably under Kariya's gleaming stare. _They ain't bad,_ Beat had insisted, the last time he and Neku had crossed paths with the duo. _Just screwy, like everybody else around here._ In comparison with Konishi or Pi-Face or Shades, granted, he'd had a point. In the three weeks Neku had spent in the UG, Koki Kariya and Yashiro Uzuki had played nasty but more or less fair, sort of; if nothing else they had at least been willing to concede, in the end, that sometimes enough was enough.

They were still Harriers, and Kariya in particular had been a Harrier for a long time, which was to say that the figure now eyeing Neku curiously and twirling a still-wrapped lollipop between his fingers was someone who had bargained to extend his own existence by, more or less, killing the souls of the dead.

And unlike Beat, who'd made that deal in an effort to save his sister, only to realize immediately that he didn't have the stomach for it, Kariya _liked_ his work.

Neku swallowed. "Kariya. Hi. We need to talk to you. It's important."

"What, this isn't a social call?" the Reaper drawled. "I'm hurt. Uzuki says hello, by the way. Well, she says, 'Ugh, what are _those_ two doing here, like hell I'm dropping to RG frequencies for _them_ —' actually, it's more _screeches_ than _says._ Manners, girl," he chided to a patch of air somewhere behind Neku's shoulder, then sighed and shrugged. "She's making faces at you. It's her version of hello. Anyway, 'sup, you two? Good to see you, but whatever problem brought you here, let me tell you— you are going to have much bigger problems when the top brass find out you remember the Game. You just can't stop breaking rules, can you?"

"The top brass already know," Neku said flatly, not in the mood for Kariya's discordantly easygoing humor. "And we already _have_ bigger problems. Angels arrested the Composer and they're threatening to wipe out Shibuya."

…And Neku had what might possibly have been the once-in-an-existence experience of seeing Koki Kariya utterly floored. After a long, speechless moment, the Reaper looked down, took off his glasses, and began to polish them on his shirt. Quietly, he said, "Well, Uzuki?"

"We knew They were in town," Uzuki said in subdued tones. Neku spun. Kariya's partner had materialized barely three feet behind him, and it was all he could do not to edge away— he wasn't scared of her, not anymore, but there was something wrong about standing so close to someone who'd almost turned him into a murderer— but there was none of the gleeful malice in her expression that he was used to seeing there. "We've seen Them. But nobody tells us anything." Her voice took on the weary note of someone about to restart an argument she'd had many times before. "If my idiot partner had actually taken any of the half-dozen promotions they've tried to give him, we might know more."

"Or we might be dead," Kariya said. "Deader. Phones and the delinquent here kinda cleaned out the upper echelons last month, right?"

"Damn straight we did," Beat said, and gave him a thumbs up which Kariya, with a wry quirk of his eyebrows, returned.

"Promotions mean more work, Uzuki," Kariya said, propping his glasses back on his nose and unwrapping his lollipop. "Promotions mean dealing with _this_ kinda shit all the time. I've told you, I don't care about the power. I want job satisfaction, and—" he winked at Neku— "I've got _that_ where I am."

_He's talking about killing people,_ Neku reminded himself _. Doesn't matter how much of a laid-back, easygoing face he puts on. He's still talking about_ killing _people._

_So does Joshua,_ his thoughts responded pointedly, _and you've still decided to trust_ him.

"Anyway," Kariya added, "we're finding out _now,_ no promotion required. Go on, Phones."

"There's only so much to tell," Neku admitted. "You said Shibuya was changing lately, the last time we talked. Well— the angels say that with everything that happened last month, it's changed so much that its reality is unstable, whatever the hell that means. And they're pissed at the Composer. So they're going to make him play a Game, and they're making all of Shibuya his opponent's entry fee, and…" He shrugged bleakly. "We're trying to figure out how to get people out of town before that happens."

Kariya narrowed his eyes in thought and sucked on his lollipop for a long, pensive moment before shaking his head. "Noble thought, but it won't work. Reality _is_ people, Phones. Their imagination and values and perception interpreting the world, and clashing and mixing and compromising with everyone else's interpretations, all the time. It's meaningless without them, it's like— like an abstract painting locked in a dark room with no one allowed in to look at it." Uzuki opened her mouth, and Kariya held up a forestalling hand. "Uzuki, I know it's not actually much like that. It's a useful simplification for metaphorical purposes, aight?" Turning back to Neku, he went on, "Point is, if Shibuya's reality is unstable and the people who belong here leave _en masse…_ they'll carry that instability with 'em. It'll spread, and before you know it half of the country will be going weird and imploding. And Uzuki asks me why I don't want a promotion."

Neku grimaced. "So what do we _do?_ "

"Well." Kariya looked Neku up and down, appraisingly. "I'm guessing I'm looking at His soon-to-be challenger, yeah?"

Neku folded his arms over his chest and looked away uncomfortably. "Yeah."

"Phones doesn't want to be," Beat interjected. "Him and the Composer, see, it's kinda—" He yelped as Neku's elbow jabbed him sharply in the side. "What?"

"We are not," Neku muttered through gritted teeth, "talking about that here."

"I was just gonna say it's complica—"

" _They don't need to know._ "

Kariya watched this exchange with obvious amusement that did not quite hide a far sharper curiosity. "Damn. You got connections, huh, kid?"

"More than I want," Neku admitted sourly. "Not enough that I know what the hell I'm doing."

"Sucks to be you." Kariya took a long draw on his lollipop. "You love this town?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Good. Best advice I can give you, then— take a look at whatever hangup you've got about offing the current Composer, and _get over it._ You're not gonna take on angels and win, kiddo."

"Oh, come _on,_ " Uzuki protested, and for the first time, Neku thought that he and the unsettlingly enthusiastic Harrier might agree on something. "We're just supposed to sit back and do nothing?"

Kariya shrugged laconically. "Directly, there's not a lot we can do. So—"

"Kariya." Her fists planted themselves firmly on her hips. "We talked about this. What did we agree we were going to work for? A better Shibuya for all Reapers. Does this sound _better_ to you? Nobody tells us anything and we find out from— from a— from an _ex-Player—_ " she nearly choked on the word— "that we're waiting on _him_ to see if we turn into Noise food? We deserve a voice in this. If They're dismantling Shibuya we deserve a _part_ in determining what happens. This stupid kid—" she pointed at Neku, her voice rising— "is going to get us all erased, and—"

"Hi," Neku said. "Standing right here, thanks."

"—And _you're_ just going to sit back and twiddle your thumbs. So much for your damn _job satisfaction_ at that point, Kariya," Uzuki snapped. "No Shibuya. No Game. No Players to harry. No _us._ "

The room fell silent. Neku felt invisible as the two Reapers glowered at each other— well, Uzuki glowered. Kariya gazed back at her with bored diffidence, and sighed. "You done?"

She scowled at him, but after a long pause she gave a curt, reluctant nod. "Yeah."

"Good, because I wasn't. _Directly,_ I said. You can try if you want— go organize a Reaper protest in the scramble, if it'll make you feel better. Call and complain, if you can find Their numbers. Threaten to go on strike. Write it in the sky with Noise. Know how much They'll care?" He snapped his fingers and held out his hand, palm open and empty. "Know how much Noise you'll be at the end of the day? That's if they bother to react at all. You can do it, if it means that much to you to stomp your foot and yell and pretend you're important enough for the universe to listen. I'll be out a partner, and Ken Doi will be out one of his, what, five customers, and I'll have to pay for my own ramen— at least until Shibuya goes up in smoke— but whatever. Or—" he nodded at Neku and grinned, all teeth. "We can work with what we've got."

"You have got to be kidding me."

" _Think_ , girl. If They wanted Shibuya gone, it would be gone. It's not, so They don't. What They _want_ is a new Composer in place. And, y'know—" he shrugged. "After all the weird lately, They might not be wrong about that. But They gotta see if it's feasible."

_It's not,_ Neku wanted to shout. _It is not fucking feasible. Thanks for asking. Glad that's settled. Can we all go home now?_ But he had the uncomfortable feeling that at least half of Kariya's words— _pretend you're important enough for the universe to listen, and watch Shibuya go up in smoke—_ were aimed at him as well as Uzuki.

"A new Composer," Uzuki muttered, sullen. "Fine. Does it have to be _him?_ " To Neku, she added, "How soon is this Game supposed to start?"

Neku heard the unasked question there, and pictured the two Reapers— or anyone, _anyone_ but him— going up against Joshua.

_Don't expect I'll be as easy to take down as Megumi was, Neku._ Megumi, who Neku and Beat had pounded into the ground and thought defeated, only for him to turn up again five minutes later as a freaking _dragon._

Neku strongly suspected that Joshua's assessment of that fight had not, relatively speaking, been inaccurate. Joshua had said he'd been restricted in power when he'd partnered with Neku, and certainly he'd made Neku do the majority of the work whenever he could. But even then— particularly when he'd finally deigned to break a sweat, as he'd put it, and stopped dropping trucks and vending machines on his opponents' heads in favor of simply waving his hand and obliterating them in bursts of white light— there'd been no secret that his slight appearance had hidden massive strength, and no compunctions except laziness about using it. Executing a fusion psych with Beat had been a partnership, the two of them counterbalancing each other through the chaos, but with Joshua it had been a constant mental tug-of-war: Joshua reaching across their pact link and seizing what power he needed to manifest whatever ridiculous pile of heavy machinery, holy light, and freaking _asteroids_ he'd decided should land on his opponents this time. _Follow my lead,_ and to hell with boundaries.

(But there'd been blinding light, and space had spun around them, dizzying and vast and _connected_ , and the rush of elation and sheer confident strength that had come along with the sync had almost been worth the teeth-grinding exasperation of Joshua being himself. Almost. Sort of.)

Kariya was as strong as any Gamemaster, when he could be bothered. Kariya and Uzuki together were a nightmare, and maybe, _maybe_ the two of them could have taken on Minamimoto even when he'd come back as Taboo. Joshua had dropped a vending machine on Minamimoto's head, and now that Neku thought about it, there had been a message there beyond the immediately obvious _Hello, you're in my way._

It was: _Just so you're clear, you haven't made me break a sweat._

"Game starts in a week," Neku told Uzuki tiredly. "If you're thinking of taking the Composer on before then, don't go there. Trust me. You'd both be slaughtered."

A tiny, treacherous thought whispered, _And what if by some miracle they weren't? Could you live with_ that _?_

Joshua, smiling like it was just another day in the Game as he stepped in, arms outstretched, to put himself between Neku and the blast—

Neku shut his eyes, swallowing remembered nausea.

Kariya chuckled. "Don't look like that, Uzuki. You'd get bored as Composer— it's hands off the hunt, for Him. And you know _I_ wouldn't take the job."

"What about a free-for-all?" she mused. "Every Reaper on board—"

"Every Reaper was on board against _this_ kid," Kariya said, pointing at Neku with his thumb. "Remind me how he's still standing here? Remind me how many Reapers we actually have _left_ right now. Then think about the fact that _he_ hasn't already ousted the Composer. If the Powers That Be want him to, badly enough that they're running another Game for it, with those kind of stakes…" He shrugged. "They'll set the Game up to give him a chance. Until that point? I don't think any of us have one. So we work with what we got."

Neku rubbed his forehead. "You really think there's no other—"

"Phones?" Kariya's voice was mild. "I've _seen_ you fight, when your heart's in it. I dunno why it isn't now, but I'm gonna give you the same advice I gave your friend there: Man. Up. This is bigger than whatever personal problems you got."

Neku managed not to wince. Kariya wasn't wrong, and everyone in the room knew it.

"You gotta admit, Lollipop, it's screwed up," Beat said. "We just got _done_ with this."

It was Uzuki who answered, with a roll of her eyes. "Cry me a river. You know how long some Reapers wait and work, trying to take a shot at the Composer? And you think _your_ side of this is unfair? Whatever." To Neku, she added, "Kariya's got a point."

"I know."

"Yeah, well." She pursed her lips and folded her arms over her chest. "If you actually win this thing? I want a promotion."

"Saving Shibuya's not enough for you?" Neku snapped back, and Kariya threw his head back and laughed at the look on Uzuki's face.

* * * * *

"Here's the thing," Kariya said without preamble. "You won't be able to do much of anything from the Realground. We're going to teach you anything, you gotta shift to the UG. Not the way you got in last time," he added as Neku tensed. "Not that Uzuki wouldn't volunteer to take the shot—"

Neku snorted. _She'd have to get in line._

"—But it's not an option. The dead don't have enough power. What you _want_ is what your pretty-boy partner pulled off— that one you were paired up with on your second go-round." Kariya's eyes narrowed. "What happened to him, anyway?"

Oh, hell. With everything else that had happened, Neku had almost forgotten about the day that Kariya had harassed him and Joshua halfway across Shibuya, throwing wall after wall after wall in their way, until they'd run into more Taboo Noise than they could handle and Joshua had given in and pulled his stupid _wave hand, everything explodes_ trick. Kariya had figured him for a break-in from the living world— and would certainly be wondering why Neku was asking for _his_ help, instead of Joshua's.

Except he wouldn't, would he? Kariya would figure that Joshua had gotten exactly what was coming to him for his crime. He was just fishing for information, even now, looking for any stray pieces of that puzzle he might have missed. _You're not just missing pieces,_ Neku thought about telling him. _You're not even working on the right damn puzzle._

Neku looked away, and shot Beat a sharp glare as the latter opened his mouth. Miracle of miracles, Beat shut his mouth again, with only a faint grumbling noise. As levelly as he could, Neku said, "Pi-Face kind of exploded when we killed him. Joshua shielded me."

Kariya grunted, his brows rising. "Huh. No joke? Didn't figure that kid had an altruistic bone in his body. Oh, well." He shrugged. "Damn shame— he might've been useful about now."

And there they were, Neku thought resignedly: the limits of Reaper empathy.

There was this much to be said for Kariya: he was probably more patient than Joshua would have been, if only because impatience took too much work. He chatted almost amiably about soul frequencies and parallel planes— "same radio, different channels; what you gotta do is learn to pick up more than one."

"I thought what I had to do was learn to _broadcast_ on a different one."

"Baby steps." Kariya grinned. "You gotta be able to see where you're going before you jump off a cliff. How many Noise are in here with us?"

"What?"

"You shift your frequency without knowing where you're going, one of 'em'll pull you right in, and there you'll be without a partner." Kariya sucked on his lollipop. "Probably won't erase you, 'cause you aren't dead and your soul's pretty strong even if you don't know what the hell you're doing with it, but best case, you'll wake up in an RG psych ward babbling about things coming out of the walls. Happens more than you'd think. So _focus._ "

"I don't have a Player Pin."

"And? Pretty boy didn't need one, did he?"

"But—"

There was a crackle of static across Neku's senses, and Kariya vanished.

Beat sat up, staring sharply around the room. "Oi, Lollipop! Where'd you—"

Pain, brief but sharp, stabbed at Neku's head, and he winced.

And then there was… something, as if he was in a movie and a soundtrack he couldn't quite hear had just swelled to signal danger. Acting on instinct, he threw himself sideways, just in time for Kariya's fist to glance off his arm— instead of catching him square in the stomach— as the Reaper shifted back to the RG mid-strike.

"Huh. So that worked," Kariya said. "Not bad for a first try, kid."

* * * * *

It was a long morning. Beat left early on, muttering something about wanting to check in on— but he stopped, shooting the Reapers an uncomfortable look, and didn't speak Rhyme's name. By midday Neku had a lot of new bruises, a splitting headache, and a sneaking suspicion that Koki Kariya was really enjoying this. Uzuki certainly was; she'd started snapping pictures on her phone somewhere about an hour in, and in her usual, charming, totally-not-vengeful-at-all way apparently now had an entire folder dedicated to Neku Getting Beaten Up. Maybe if he won the Game and gave her that promotion, he thought tiredly, there was a faint hope that the photos _wouldn't_ wind up plastered over every corner of the Internet that a Reaper had ever visited.

But he was starting to get it, he thought. It wasn't so much like seeing, without the Player Pin, but there were shifts in the way the world around him _felt,_ if he shut his eyes and tried to make his mind do… whatever it had done, when he'd used his psychs in the Game. His initial vague impression, of a soundtrack he couldn't quite hear but could feel in his bones, had been coming increasingly clear over the last hour, even if the music of it was still, frustratingly, just out of the range of sensing…

Another stab in his skull, and he hissed, putting a hand to his temple. "Ow. _Damn_ it. Is this supposed to be making my brain explode?"

Kariya staticked back into physical reality with a shrug. "You're kinda working it overtime. You've got one thing down without trying, though: I can't imprint _anything_ on you. And don't think I haven't been trying, all morning. Actually—" he paused, considering— "might be what's doing a number on your head."

Neku blinked, feeling his face heat. "You what?" Okay, yes, he'd done it to people too, when the Game had demanded; it wasn't like respect for personal boundaries was a big thing in the UG, which maybe wasn't a surprise when you considered who ran the place. Still.

Kariya grinned at his obvious discomfort. "Don't look at me like that, kid. Thought it might speed the process up, if I could send you a snapshot of what your mind needs to do. But you've got _walls._ Solid ones. So— no luck."

"Oh," Neku muttered. "Well, that figures. If I could do things on purpose that'd be great—"

His phone rang. He pulled it out, glanced at the number, and waved Kariya away as he put it to his ear. "Shiki?"

"Neku." Her voice was hoarse and tired, and he wondered if she'd slept at all since they'd parted ways at three a.m. "I just… I'm sorry. I need to talk."

"It's okay. Know the feeling."

"I…" A faint sniffle. "I don't know how to get Eri to leave, Neku. I don't know… what do I even _tell_ her? She _lives_ here, same as me. I… I thought I could make plans, we could meet up somewhere that day in another part of Tokyo, but— but what if they do something stupid, like— like starting the Game at midnight or…" She trailed off and was silent for a long moment, and then her voice hardened. "And I thought about it, and I remember about that boy now. He shot you."

Neku shut his eyes.

"You didn't tell me he _shot_ you, Neku."

_How would you have liked me to bring it up?_ "Shiki, I… this is another conversation I can't really have over the phone. Please?"

A pause. "Are you at home?"

"No. I stayed out. Figured I wouldn't be able to sleep." His stomach growled, and he was sharply reminded that— missing his wallet as well as his keys— he hadn't eaten yet today. Food didn't seem like it should matter much, just now, but his stomach still felt hollow.

"All night?" she asked sharply. "What about your parents?"

Neku sighed. "Dad had overtime at work this weekend, and Mom was going out. They'd both have expected me to sleep in. I haven't gotten a call from either of them, so I don't think they actually noticed I wasn't there when they left. Anyway, I've kind of got bigger things to worry about right now."

"Right," she conceded. "Can we meet back up? Please? I'm going to go crazy sitting here and thinking about this."

"I…" Neku glanced at Kariya. The Reaper had retreated to a discreet distance; he shrugged as Neku met his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, just… give me a few."

"Problems?" Kariya asked mildly, when Neku had hung up.

"I gotta go talk to a… a friend." Like Beat had over Rhyme, he found himself stumbling over speaking Shiki's name in front of the Reapers.

"Mm." Kariya gave him a long, narrow-eyed look. "You've been telling people, haven't you?"

Neku let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Not that many. You can tell by how I haven't landed in that RG psych ward you mentioned, yet. But the people who _will_ believe it… they deserve to know."

"Deserve," Kariya echoed, as if he were tasting the word and finding it unfamiliar. "Well, let me know how that works out for you."

"It's against the law," Uzuki muttered, just loudly enough to be audible. "But They're making _you_ Composer, so I guess They don't care, do they?"

"I gotta go," Neku said again, uncomfortably, and started to turn away.

Kariya held up a hand. "Neku."

Neku paused and looked back, surprised. He hadn't actually expected the Reaper to know his name. "Yeah?"

Kariya held up his phone. "My number. You got a long way to go over the next week— and beyond that. Dunno how much we can help you, but you need something, give a call."

Neku blinked. The Reaper was acting in self-preservation, he knew that, but still he found himself oddly touched by the gesture. "Thanks."

"Yeah, well." Kariya shrugged. "We owe you one for the last time we ran into you. _I'll_ admit it, even if Uzuki won't. And I don't know the whole story, but I suspect we owe you for more than that."

Neku met the Reaper's eyes and saw that keen curiosity there again, momentarily out from behind its facade of bored indifference, and he smiled. "Yeah," he admitted. "You do."

And he slipped away down the ladder, and went to meet with Shiki.

 


	7. it's not that complicated

Hanekoma scanned the paper that had just been slid across the table to him. The first line read, _Proposed: a Game to determine the rightful holder of the Composer's seat, Shibuya_.

Quietly, he said, "Don't do this to him. Please."

A brief pause, and he could feel the angel who had given him the paper stepping into his mind, examining that imprecise word: _him._ Could feel the query there: was Hanekoma speaking of Neku, or Joshua?

There had been a time, not long ago at all, when the intrusion wouldn't have bothered him— wouldn't have seemed an intrusion at all. The shared consciousness of the Higher Planes, when one was accepted as a part of it, was a joy and a blessed gift. But he wasn't a part of it now, and never would be again, and now— now it was an intrusion, so much so that for the first time, he thought he could perhaps begin to understand Joshua's utter resistance to the whole idea of sharing of himself so.

Hanekoma had borne that resistance in mind when he'd given Neku the fusion pin; he'd expected that Joshua wouldn't be able to keep his hands off for long, and would wind up partnered with his proxy before the end. He'd meant the pin mainly as a tool to track— and encourage— Neku's own progress, but it had maybe been aimed, ever so slightly, at Joshua as well. _You want to get your way, you're going to have to let this one in, boss._

He remembered that now, and managed not to snap _You could just ask_ at the angel currently interrogating his thoughts. Not aloud, at least. But the angel tilted his head to one side, blinking in a kind of curious, thoughtful puzzlement, and Hanekoma knew the words had been heard anyway.

"You meant both of them," the angel said, but that wasn't a question; he'd found the answer, and was still present in Hanekoma's head, examining it quizzically, even as he spoke.

"Yes."

"Your concern for the Sakuraba boy is understandable," the angel said more slowly. "Understand that we wish him no harm. On the contrary, he is…" A pause as spoken language became insufficient, and for a brief, glorious moment a light blossomed in Hanekoma's mind, and with it a rush of pure, unabashed delight.

Oh, yes. _That_ was what it had felt like, to be something holy.

And then it went dark again, and Hanekoma shut his eyes and tried not to hurt at the loss.

"He has great potential," the angel said quietly, and Hanekoma needed no shared consciousness to hear an unspoken, _As you did, once, very long ago._ "We would not normally interfere with his growth, but the circumstances are unusual. He risks causing damage in the Realground if he stays, and he… risks damage to himself, if he remains within the influence of Shibuya's current Composer."

"You make Phones kill him," Hanekoma said, keeping his tone soft and level and his mind carefully still, "he's never going to forgive you."

"As he awakens, he will come to understand." A brief pause. "But you are distressed at the thought of the Composer's loss yourself— though you corrupted yourself and the fabric of Shibuya in an effort to destroy him."

"Yeah, well." Hanekoma considered challenging the angel's assumption about Neku's capacity for understanding, and then decided to save that one for a time when he might actually get somewhere. If such a time ever came. "What can I say? J has pointed out to me that I didn't try as hard as I probably could have. I think he was more annoyed by the perceived half-assedness of the assassination attempt than the attempt itself." Hanekoma had come to a firm conclusion, in the days following his initial conversation with the Composer on the subject: if, heavens forbid, he ever found himself making another attempt on Joshua Kiryu's life, he was going to make very, very sure that Joshua— who would undoubtedly survive it, because the damn kid _always_ survived— never found out about it. Joshua had seemed to view the entire situation with Sho as a homework assignment which had received a failing mark, and which thus deserved to be returned to owner with all mistakes circled in red pen and corrections made in the margins. _54/100. See me after class, Sanae._

"Yes," the angel said calmly. Hanekoma wondered if the Higher Planes had always been so humorless, as seen from the outside. They hadn't seemed so as one of their number. "We are aware that he has studied your refinery sigil. Suggested… improvements."

Hanekoma groaned and managed, barely, not to rest his head in his hands. That had been the worst bit of it: when Joshua had strolled into WildKat with a sketch in hand, cheerfully indifferent to the fact that even looking at the thing was ten kinds of illegal, and set it down on the counter and said, _Am I mistaken in thinking it would have been more efficient if you'd drawn it this way?_

The worst bit _of_ the worst bit was that he hadn't been mistaken, and he'd blinked innocently and said, _I don't know what you're making a fuss about, Sanae. I just gave it a look and thought about it a bit. It's not that difficult when you see how it works, is it? Is this kind of thing really all that your job involves?_

"If you think he intended to put his suggestions into action, you don't understand him. At all." Though of course that was part of the problem: the Higher Planes, on the whole, _didn't_ understand Joshua, and never had. "He wasn't aiming to use the sigil. He was aiming to make me yell and tear my hair out, at which endeavor he succeeded spectacularly."

"And yet he hides his full intentions from us," the angel said, still quiet. "And even from you, whom he claims to value most. An understanding of the sigil's working did come naturally to him— as many things do— and as with so many things he has neither worked for nor struggled at, he shows little respect for the gravity of such knowledge. Such behavior is dangerous."

Hanekoma looked away and muttered under his breath, "So you make an example of him."

"He acts according to his whims," the angel said. "You believe this recent Game has changed him; if so, it has not changed him nearly enough. He knows what _you_ have done, and should know the severity of your crime, yet he defied us when your peaceable return was requested. He returned the Sakuraba boy to the Realground, with no concern at all for the damage the boy's untrained strength could do— and returned others who should by rights have been returned to the Noise— all for a childish infatuation. He claims to work towards a higher harmony, yet he continually walls off his own mind, and reacts with hostility and resistance when encouraged to do otherwise. He thinks, in short, that the rules do not apply to him." The angel spread his hands wide. "In _that,_ recent events have not changed him, and the Underground cannot see such flagrantly arrogant and selfish behavior go without consequence."

Hanekoma went back to staring at the proposal. There were short profiles of the two players, and their proposed entry fees. His eyes kept skipping guiltily over Joshua's fee, shamefacedly afraid to know— _you, whom he claims to value most_ — and being drawn back to Neku's, and the succinctness of the three kanji written there: _Shibuya ward._ Joshua had expected that was what they'd pull, and Hanekoma had all but throttled him for not taking the matter more seriously. For not reaching out to bargain, for continuing to refuse a new Producer, for shrugging when Hanekoma had pointed out that Neku wasn't going to take this thing well _at all_ and that if given enough time to think about the stakes, and made to understand that the people in charge of this one were far less mercurial about following through on their threats than Joshua was, Neku was probably going to take the shot this time.

If anything, Joshua had seemed faintly intrigued by that last.

In truth, Hanekoma wasn't sure that Joshua understood Neku's choice in his final Game much better than the higher-ups understood anything that was going on in Joshua's head, and Joshua had two basic approaches to dealing with things he didn't understand. If he didn't find them interesting, he pretended they weren't there and assumed that they would eventually wither and collapse into nothing in the dead void left by his disdain. If he did find them interesting, he needled and poked and pushed until they snapped.

Only Neku hadn't snapped, or at least not in the particular way Joshua had set him up to. Hadn't taken the shot, hadn't sacrificed the one who blatantly deserved sacrifice to save the many who just as clearly didn't, and hadn't— against all evidence and reason— lost what tenuous faith in humanity he'd begun to build in the past weeks.

_Had_ wept, for the boy who'd murdered him.

And there had been, for a split second, a look on the Composer's face that anyone who didn't know him very well (which was to say anyone but Hanekoma) would have missed: the look of one who thought he already knew all the important things that there were to know, finding out that the universe could still catch him completely and utterly off guard.

It had been worth seeing. For the first time in decades, Hanekoma had dared to think that there might yet be some hope for Joshua's soul.

And then the higher-ups came along and called it _childish infatuation,_ because they were so used to being able to reach straight into a person's mind and see what was there that they'd completely forgotten what to do when they couldn't, and assumed that anyone who would intentionally close himself off to them must have nefarious purposes. They were going to kick Joshua straight back into habits he had barely begun to think about losing— habits which heard the words _I trust you_ and responded, instinctively and without hesitation, with _How much would you like to bet on that?_

Tiredly, Hanekoma said, "Why are you showing this to me? Because I'm pretty damn sure you're not interested in my opinion."

The angel's face was serene. "Because, Fallen, this is still— to put it as casually as you might— your mess to clean up. Under closer supervision than you have previously worked, of course."

And he reached out and turned the paper over, and Hanekoma's gaze fell on the top line, and stayed there:

_Gamemaster (probationary): Sanae Hanekoma._

* * * * *

"He _shot_ you," Shiki hissed, hands clenched. "Neku, we're supposed to tell each other things. Remember? We're _partners._ I can't help you if you don't _tell_ me things."

"I know. I know, I just—"

"So why didn't you tell me he _shot_ you?" she demanded.

Neku glanced warily around at the crowds near 104. No one appeared to be listening right now, but still… "Maybe don't say that quite so loudly, Shiki."

Her lips thinned, but she leaned in closer, dropping her voice. "Maybe tell me when you're hurting, Neku."

"I told you a lot," he protested weakly. "I told you about Shibuya and— look, I'm working on it. Beat caught up with a couple of the Reapers and they— we're trying to figure out how I can get stronger before the Game starts. I know," he added at the look on her face, "but don't look at me like that. They're… well, these two aren't the good guys, exactly, but they're a… vaguely benevolent kind of evil." He did not add that one of them was the one who'd almost talked him into killing Shiki, back at the start of all this. "And if Shibuya goes, they go too, so they're acting in their own interest. So…" He shrugged, and his shoulders slumped. "Look, I didn't mean to shut you out about Joshua." Except for the bit where he really, really had. "There's just a lot going on right now, and the thing with him is… complicated, and I figured I'd dumped enough on you already."

"Okay," she said, sounding more subdued. "I can get that. Sorry for yelling."

"Hey. You don't need to apologize to me either, you know," Neku said quietly. "Ever."

She sniffed and swiped a hand across her eyes. "It's not that complicated, though, is it? He shot you, Neku. He handed you a gun, and you didn't shoot, and he shot you dead."

He bit back the first words that came to mind— _Trust me, I know, I was kind of there—_ and didn't quite bite back the second, which were, "Well, not that dead. I mean, I'm _here._ "

She gave him a sharp, unreadable look and then ducked her head, studying Mr. Mew's little piggish ears intently. "Oh. Sure," she mumbled. "No big deal, then, right? Guess it was silly of me to worry."

He sighed. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Sure," she said again, her tone anything but convinced. "No, I get it. I mean, it was the Game. Rhyme got eaten by a shark. You got shot. I got told I was coming back to life, and then woke up in a sewer with a—" She paused, her eyes taking on that uncertain look they'd worn last night. "Did a dragon really try to eat us?"

Neku winced. "Yeah. Yeah, that was Shades."

"Fine. All just part of the Game, right? Terrible things happening to people we care about, and nothing we could do except sit back and watch. Neku, do you remember what it was like, seeing that shark come out of the pavement and—" She stopped, further description visibly catching in her throat.

He shut his eyes and pushed back the wave of remembered rage and helpless grief. "Of course I remember."

"Rhyme was our friend, and we'd only met her a few times. You— you're my partner, and all I could do was stand there and watch and… and he laughed, Neku. Everything we'd been through, and he just strolled in and shot you, and he _laughed._ And I'm just supposed to, what, to shrug it off?"

"No. No, I really didn't mean—"

She rounded on him with sudden ferocity. "Well, how did you mean it? Because you're getting this stubborn look on your face, Neku— you had it last night when you talked about him, and you've got it now— like you're already hearing what you think I'm going to say, and you're already getting ready to brush it off."

"I don't," he began, half bewildered and half guilty, but she cut him off.

"No? _The thing with him is complicated._ What's so damn complicated about _he shot you,_ Neku _?_ "

"What's complicated is _I'm alive,_ " he bit out, frustrated and angry— not at her, never at her, but she was here, and he was abruptly done with _not talking about this_. "And you're alive. And Beat and Rhyme are alive even though Rhyme lost flat out and got eaten by a shark and Beat broke every rule in the Game. And Shibuya's this, this amazing—" He didn't have the words for the beautiful chaotic mess it was, everybody finding new ways to be themselves, all the time, and he shook his head, waving a hand vaguely. "It _sings,_ almost, if I listen. I never saw any of that before I died. And if Joshua was really half the sadistic condescending bastard he acts like—"

He tugged his fingers through his hair with an aggravated groan. "Except I'm pretty sure he _is._ " Therein lay the problem. "You think I'm asking _you_ to shrug things off? Okay. That wasn't the first time he shot me, Shiki. He shot me when I was alive. He murdered me so I'd enter the Game, and he jerked me around and lied to me and pulled the rug out from under my feet over and over _and over,_ and then he _shot me again._ That was the one you saw." His shoulders slumped, and an exhausted, humorless laugh escaped him. "And then he just went and worked a whole bunch of fucking miracles, like that would somehow even things out. And I hate to admit this, but it kind of did, because _nothing_ was ever as good as seeing you and Beat and Rhyme at Hachiko yesterday, and all of us being alive, and—" and Shibuya being itself, in that way he didn't have words for. "I never— I never _had_ that, okay? Logically I should hate his guts, and, y'know, I kind of do, but I— he— I…"

She was staring at him now, and just as abruptly as he'd begun, he was done with talking about this. _They want me to kill him to save Shibuya. I couldn't do it last time. I_ have _to do it this time._

_And I can't. That's what it comes down to. I can't, and I know it, and Kariya could teach me everything he knows about Noise and frequencies and parallel planes and psychs and casually murdering dead people to keep yourself alive, and I still wouldn't be able to. They're not supposed to do this. Making_ kill your partner _the mission is supposed to be against Game rules._

_Yeah, and who said so? Mr. H. As he was busy, y'know, teaching all the secrets of Composer-murdering— and Reaper-murdering— and Player-murdering— to a power-hungry lunatic with a math fetish and no conscience._

_As one does._

"It's complicated," he said, weakly. "But he's— he was— my partner. Same as… not the same as you or Beat, obviously. But… still. He says the pact would still have taken him out, if I went, and I think I believe him on that. He's just crazy enough to have—"

"Back up," she said, abruptly. "He was your _what?_ "

Neku paused, and thought back, and realized that no, actually, she'd missed that bit.

Several minutes of tired and increasingly convoluted attempts at explanation later, Shiki was looking at him like he'd grown a second head, and okay, yeah, when he said it all aloud… "I know," he admitted. "I _know,_ all right? Like I said. Sadistic condescending bastard."

She nodded, slowly, and studied her hands. "So maybe stop defending him?"

"I'm not…" She peered at him, and he looked down, embarrassed. "Okay. Yeah. I just… he's the _Composer,_ Shiki. I dunno. I mean, is it still unforgiveable to murder somebody if you bring them back to life afterwards? How does the morality actually work, there? Because I feel like that maybe makes it a little less straightforward."

"Doesn't sound like he meant to when he did it, though, did he?" she asked quietly.

"No. But even then, just knowing you had the _option_ _…_ " He grimaced. It wasn't like he hadn't had this argument with himself a thousand times in the last week. He wasn't sure why he kept having it, why he couldn't just settle on _Yeah, he's a total asshole, who knows._ Why he wanted justification so badly, some halfway defensible or even vaguely _not completely terrible_ reason for Joshua's actions. "Wouldn't that start to skew your judgment? Because there's always room for a takeback. And if you're that distant from people—"

"Defending again, Neku."

He slumped back, sighing. "Yeah. Fair point. I just…" He still hadn't actually told her, he knew, that this upcoming Game for Shibuya was to be against Joshua. Or that Joshua didn't figure that both of them were going to get out of it alive.

He probably should, but the words stuck in his throat and wouldn't come out. Instead, after a long moment, he said, "I don't think I can talk about this right now, Shiki. And we still need to figure out how you can be sure to get Eri out of town." Even if, after talking to Kariya, he had no hope whatsoever that distance from Shibuya would save Shiki's best friend.

Shiki's eyes softened a little. "Yeah. It's gotta be overnight somewhere, I just… what if she won't go? Or her parents won't let her, or mine won't let me, because it's not like I can tell any of them how important it is." She sighed. "Is it as weird with yours as it is with mine? I mean, I'm glad they don't know. It'd be awful if they had to remember the accident, but some days since we got back I've just…" She hugged Mr. Mew a little tighter. "I've wanted to shout at them."

"Yeah," Neku said quietly. His own parents hadn't been around enough in the past week to prompt much beyond a mild case of weird whenever he'd had to talk to them, and for their absence he had been deeply grateful, in a slightly guilty way. If things ever did somehow get back to normal— did Composers still live at home with their parents until they were eighteen? Probably not— he'd have to start working on narrowing that rift somehow, but right now he still had so much to sort out for himself that he'd been glad for the space to do it in.

Possibly whatever higher power watched over familial relationships had as annoying a sense of humor as Joshua did, because it was at that moment that his phone rang again. Seriously, before the Game he'd gone weeks at a time without a single phone conversation. He glanced at the caller ID, and winced, and answered, giving Shiki an apologetic look. "Mom?"

"Neku, where are you?"

"Uh… I met a friend at 104."

"You didn't leave a note."

He bit back the observation that he never had before, and she'd never commented. "Sorry?"

"Neku, we talked about this."

They had? He stared into the middle distance, and wondered— not for the first time— how her memory had filled in most of the last month. "Sorry," he said again. "I didn't think."

"Well, come home," she said tiredly. "I'm glad you've found friends, Neku, but I don't want you wandering off without telling me where you'll be. Not anymore."

"But—"

"Neku." Her voice brooked no argument. "Home."

Shiki watched him as he ended the call, her eyes sad. Neku grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I gotta go. I'm sorry." Why his mother had picked now, of all times, to start worrying… "I'll, uh. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay," she said quietly. "Neku… take care of yourself, okay?"

He managed a smile. "I'll try. You too."

* * * * *

"Neku." His mother's voice as he stepped into the apartment and took off his shoes was quiet, but there was strain in it. She looked him up and down, and paused to study his face. He wondered if he looked as bleak as he felt. "I know you think I'm being stupid to worry, but—"

He averted his gaze. He and his parents weren't close, and hadn't been for a long time; he'd sunk into his own world further and further as he'd grown up, and for a time they'd watched from a distant shore, muted and uncertain. And then, eventually, they'd looked away.

_I don't think you're being stupid, Mom. I just think you've got the world's worst timing for trying to Take An Interest._

"—But I just…" Her voice caught. "We talked about this."

Yeah. He rubbed his forehead, looked at the floor and said nothing. If he got the chance, he was going to have to talk to Joshua about what, exactly, people thought had happened while he'd been dead. Since when had his mother bothered about where he went? He had stayed out of trouble at school and hadn't stayed out too late, and that had been about the extent of her concern.

"Don't be angry," she added softly. "I know— I know you liked to spend time around there."

He looked up sharply. _Wait, what?_

"But I just keep thinking— it could have been you." She shuddered. "I know. It wasn't, and it could have been anyone, but ever since that boy last month— and they never caught the shooter, you know."

A slow, horrible cold began to creep down Neku's spine and out to his limbs.

"It's not supposed to happen here," his mother added. "Even with shooting deaths up this year, it's not supposed to happen practically on your doorstep (1). And everyone acts like it didn't happen at all, like they've just looked away and forgotten and gone on with their lives, and I can't…" She scrubbed at her face. "I keep having these nightmares, and these… flashes, even when I'm not asleep, where I think for a moment it was you. I _know_ I'm just being stupid, but I keep…"

The world was swimming around him, and his ears rang, and _the boy tore around the corner with a gun in his hand and wild determination in his eyes, and the shots split the air so loud they drowned out the music in Neku's ears. The pavement scraped Neku's hands as he hit the ground hard, but the pain wasn't as loud as the noise or the fear, and he scuttled backwards, shaking, throwing his arms up in front of his face as an ineffectual shield, wanting nothing but to be out from between this mad boy and his target, who was shooting back now and—_

_and—_

_and bullets weren't supposed to stop in midair like that and crash to the ground, but the second shooter had turned tail and was running and oh thank gods, they were going to leave, they were both going to leave and—_

_and why wasn't the boy leav—_

_oh._

Joshua had told the truth about one thing. There had not, after that, been time to feel anything.

After everything that had happened, maybe Neku shouldn't have been surprised that the event hadn't been fully erased from history, that it was only his name and face that had detached from it, somehow. Maybe he'd done that too, he thought bitterly, with his incredibly freaking impressive psychic powers that apparently only worked when he wasn't trying, and only in the most inconvenient ways possible. His knees still threatened to start shaking as he listened to his mother continue on in a tired, numb monotone about that boy, that poor boy who'd been shot in broad daylight in the back streets of Udagawa and someone had said there had been two shooters, they must have been yakuza, the boy had just been caught in the crossfire and _it could have been you, Neku_ _…_

Some manic, detached bit of his brain thought, _Boy, this isn't awkward at all._

He found his voice at last, enough to manage, "You're not being stupid."

She stopped and looked at him as if she didn't recognize him, and he ducked his head, shutting his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mom, I… didn't realize it had hit you quite so hard. I wasn't thinking. You're right. It could have been me."

He opened his eyes and found her still studying him as if he'd turned into a stranger.

And really, he thought, somewhere in the last month he had.

* * * * *

Now that he was home, Neku had to admit that he needed sleep. And food. He shouldn't have, maybe, with the world about to end, but he was cold and getting colder and there was that strange sort of distant buzz starting just under his skin that came along with too many all-nighters. Not that he'd had even one all-nighter, just half of one, but maybe— _maybe_ having the fate of the entire town dropped on his shoulders had been a little bit extra-exhausting in its own right. He kept feeling static skittering down his spine.

His mother eyed him oddly as he wolfed down his lunch. Finally she asked if he was all right, and he mumbled that he hadn't slept so well last night, and escaped to his room. He sent Shiki a text: _Home. Need to get some sleep but call if you need to talk. I'll be here._

He fell into bed— shoving his apartment keys and his wallet into his pockets first this time, thank you, Joshua— and stared blankly at the ceiling. Now that he was here, alone and still, it was the last thing he wanted to be, and his eyes snapped open every time he closed them, constantly needing to check for themselves that he was still in his own room, in his own bed, even though he'd certainly feel it if the mattress had changed to pavement underneath him.

He tried to make himself focus on the just-out-of-reach soundtrack he'd spent the morning seeking, and slowly it started to come back, and slowly he felt himself start to relax. There'd been this about the Game, as he'd gotten used to it: in the overarching scheme of things he'd had no power over anything, but in a fight— psychs scorching the pavement or freezing the air, Noise shrieking in fury or fear, the sense of his partner across the pact link always present at the back of his mind— he'd felt more in control, and more sharply aware of the world around him, than he'd ever been in his life. The unheard music that now thrummed through his breath and his bones brought a similar feeling with it.

At last Neku's eyes closed and stayed closed, and at last he slept and did not dream.

He woke to dim late-afternoon light, and to the sinking awareness that he was not alone in his room. He sat up. There was an angel sitting in his desk chair, watching him attentively.

Neku probably should have taken the opportunity to ask questions, to demand answers, to argue. He knew it, but he had very little hope that any of that would get him anywhere, so he took the probably equally ineffectual but slightly more satisfying route of glaring sourly and pointing at the window. "Get out. If you've got something to say, you can text me. I know you've got my number."

The angel inclined his head. "And yet we have done so, and you seem disinclined to heed such messages. You were ordered, very clearly, to refrain from all contact with the Underground."

"Yeah, well, Kariya said it: just can't seem to stop breaking rules, can I? Anyway, what're you going to do?" Neku threw his arms wide. "Erase me? Oh. Wait. Then you'd have to do your own damn dirty work."

"Mr. Sakuraba—"

"Look, here's the deal," Neku snapped. "You want me to be the Composer? Fine. I will be the Composer. I don't _want_ the job, but I will take the job. That's what you really want, right? Somebody in power who's going to be more cooperative about dancing to whatever tune you play? Fine. Do whatever paperwork you've gotta do to make it happen. But I know this game, and you're not allowed to do this. You can't make _kill your partner_ the mission. And if that's what you want, then—"

His cellphone rang, and he said flatly, without checking to see who it was, "Excuse me, I gotta get this."

The figure inclined his head silently, apparently unoffended by the rudeness. It would have been far more satisfying, Neku thought, if he had at least looked annoyed.

Neku pulled his phone out and blinked at the number flashing on the screen. Not one he recognized, and it wasn't in his contact list, but— "Hello?"

"Neku? It's Rhyme." The little girl's voice was hushed and urgent and strained. "Something's wrong. Beat's gone."

"What?" Neku pressed a hand over his eyes. "He took off? I thought he wasn't doing that anym—"

"He's _gone,_ Neku. Really gone. There's none of his stuff here and Mom and Dad don't—" There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, as if Rhyme was trying not to cry. Her voice shook. "They're acting like they don't— don't remember him."

Neku froze. Slowly, unwillingly, his gaze strayed back to the cold, not-quite-there face of the angel.

The angel tilted his head to one side, and said quietly, "Actions do have consequences, Mr. Sakuraba."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnote 1: A couple of numbers, for cultural context around the idea of a random kid getting gunned down on a city street: In Japan in 2007, the year The World Ends With You came out, there was indeed— as Neku's mother noted— a spike in deaths by gun violence. Across the country, 22 people died of gunshot wounds in the entire year. By comparison, in 2006 it was two people. Basically, it temporarily became slightly more common to die by getting shot than by getting struck by lightning.


	8. just listen

He could still hear Shades's voice. " _Now then. As for your new entry fee…"_

_Neku froze. "You're taking my memories again?" What was the point in giving them back? Just a carrot, to dangle in front of him and then yank out of reach? Anger surged up in him, and then panic, though he tried to hide it. If Shades took everything back that he'd just returned, would he take the last week, too? He'd be starting all over, no idea what was going on, no understanding of how_ important _this was. If there wasn't someone like Shiki this time, to shout and cajole him into making a pact and going along with things, he'd be dead for good._

_Shades's smile was cold and indifferent— the smile of a lab tech who had long since stopped thinking of the rats he dropped into electrode-filled mazes as anything beyond_ just a job; _there was no comprehension there that they might have thoughts and feelings of their own, and if they did, he wouldn't have cared. "This time," he said, "you're playing for Shiki Misaki."_

_The world stopped._

_Wait, Neku wanted to say. No, go back, you can't do_ _that to her, that's not fair. I'll give you my memories back instead, you can't— she won, she was out, going back to see her best friend, you can't_ do _that to her—_

_But the words got stuck somewhere, crashing into a mangled heap as they all tried to get out at once, and what mostly made it out of his throat was a scream._

And now they'd done the same thing, but to Beat.

Beat, who'd sold his own soul trying to save his little sister, and then basically gone into bankruptcy to save Neku. Who'd finally been at ease yesterday, grinning and showing off tricks on his board to the general awe of Shiki and Rhyme (and Neku, though of course Neku had pretended not to be _that_ impressed, because it wasn't like he hadn't seen what Beat could do with that thing— never mind that this was the Realground and there were no psychic powers boosting him along, here).

A little later in the day Beat had pulled Neku aside while Shiki and Rhyme were off examining something in a 104 window, and after visibly steeling himself had asked in a low voice if Neku was any good in school. _"I gotta try to turn things around, man. I promised Rhyme, but I can't keep leaning on her for all that stuff. I mean, her helping me study's the only reason I got into senior high at all, and she's eleven. It ain't fair to her. But she's the only one who ever takes the time to explain stuff so I get it, and— look, I'll put the work in, I swear, it's just they throw all these goddamn kanji and names and dates and equators—"_

_Neku blinked at that one. "Equations?"_

_"Yeah, that, and see, that's what I mean. I get stuff mixed up and it comes out wrong, even when it's simple, even when I_ know _it, and I gotta—"_

_"Beat," Neku interrupted, seeing a nervous-energy-fueled diatribe incoming. When Beat's tough act fell apart, it tended to fall hard. "Yeah. I'll help you study."_

_"—And I just, like, then I get stuck on it and I— oh." Beat paused. "You will?"_

_Neku rolled his eyes, gave Beat a light punch to the shoulder. "You gotta ask? Of course I will."_

And now Beat was gone, because Neku had tried to find a way out of murdering someone else he cared about.

"Rhyme?" Neku heard his voice crack, hated himself for it. "I'm going to call you back as soon as I can, okay? I think… think I know what happened. It'll… it'll be..." He couldn't make himself say the word _okay,_ could still feel his hands shake and fall to his sides when he'd tried to pull the trigger, and if he couldn't get past that, nothing was going to be okay.

If he _could_ get past it, nothing was going to be okay, either.

"I'm gonna try to work this out," he told her, because there was no sense in saying anything more optimistic. She'd already demonstrated her skill at reading lies over the telephone in his brief conversation with her that morning.

"'Kay," she said, subdued, and there was a surreptitious sniffle on the other end of the line. "Neku, be careful, okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "You too."

There was a long moment of silence after he hung up the phone. Neku sat on his bed, still and blank, and the angel watched him silently.

The moment after that was a blur of noise and motion. Neku lunged across the room, and in the small background part of his mind that was consciously thinking about anything, he was aware that in that instant he'd worked out the trick Kariya hadn't known how to teach him. His frequency had flipped to Underground levels, and now— okay, _now_ things were going to be different. He could feel control coming back to him already, fire and lightning crackling under his skin, itching to leap out of his hands, the air ready to make itself a blade if he wanted it—

_Neku._ Joshua's voice, out of nowhere, calm and controlled. **_Stop._** _None of us need you to get yourself killed._

He froze, as much out of startlement as anything, his fist approximately a foot from the angel's face.

An instant later he felt himself flip back to the Realground. He couldn't have said how he'd done it, hadn't _meant_ to do it, but there was no question that was what he'd done; it was all draining away again, as quickly as it had come, leaving him shaky and useless as he stepped back and folded his arms over his chest. The angel hadn't moved, watching him with something like disdain, inasmuch as Neku could make out any expression at all.

_Better,_ Joshua— said? Thought? _Don't respond openly at present, please. They can't hear me, but if you start talking to thin air they're liable to catch on. If you really need to say anything, just think it loudly. I'll hear you._

A brief wave of dizziness swept over him. Oh. Fine. Joshua was in his head now. Fine. There were any number of things Neku intended to think loudly about this, when he had time, but right now— "Good going," he shot at the angel. "You attack my friends and traumatize a little girl who's already been through hell, to get at me. That's really fucking angelic of you."

"It was no attack, Mr. Sakuraba," the angel said quietly. "Merely a clarifying statement, as there seems to be some confusion on your part. The Game _will_ go forward. The boy is unharmed, and will be returned with the rest of your fee pending your victory— an act of good faith on Our part, may we add, as his chaotic soul never earned its return to the Realground in the first place." The sense of a smile, incongruously gentle, passed across the not-quite-there face. "You spoke of taking the Composer's throne, but such responsibility requires a commitment to a good greater than any one individual's life or whims. Kiryu has forgotten that in recent years, and his latest Game— far from refreshing his memory— appears to have further encouraged his downward spiral. If you are to replace him, you _must_ come to understand that. We realize it will take time."

Deep breaths, Neku told himself, fighting down nausea. It was like talking to the ghost of Shades, minus the horrible unsettling reverence for Joshua— which should have been a change for the better and yet really wasn't, which added its own edge of surreal horror to the whole thing. Point was, he'd gotten through multiple encounters with the former Conductor without punching anyone, and really, the resemblance was striking. More stupid bureaucracy, more utter disregard for human lives and needs, more unfair ridiculous rules thrown in his way any time he looked like he might be getting somewhere. The weight of it all pressed in on him, made his lungs and his chest and his throat ache, made the room lurch dizzily around him.  "Time," he said dully. "Right. Yeah. Hope you brought a good book, because you're gonna have to wait quite a while."

"We are prepared," the angel said patiently, "to give you sufficient time. We are aware that you currently have neither the resolve nor the skill needed for the task ahead of you, Mr. Sakuraba. The Game, then, will be to determine whether you can develop both. Once Shibuya is off the board, its instability will not progress further until its fate is determined, and so you will be given that time, to learn and to grow and to understand how much larger the world is than it seems from your eyes." Another horribly gentle smile. "You know the value in such growth."

Neku's throat hurt with wanting to scream. "I don't know the value in _killing my friends._ " He could still feel the ghost of energy that wanted to surge up and and blast this condescending bastard to vapor, and— hang on. That had been psych energy, and how did that work exactly? He didn't have any pins, and he wasn't in a—

And abruptly he realized what he should have realized right away. Would have, if he hadn't been so busy being furious at the angels and Joshua alike. The awareness of a second person at the back of his mind was so familiar— so _reassuring,_ after three weeks where losing that presence would have meant death— that all he'd consciously registered of it as he'd flipped into the Underground was that for an instant, angry as he was, he'd been _right_ in the world and safe in his own skin. Ready to take on anything, absolutely anything, that threatened the people he cared about.

He was in a pact.

The room spun a little faster. What the hell— _when_ the hell— how—?

"Shibuya's Composer," the angel said, still quiet and calm, "is not your friend, Mr. Sakuraba. If that had not been evident to you previously, surely his behavior at your last meeting made it clear? If he truly cared for you or for the city, do you think he would have spoken of the upcoming Game with such anticipation?"

Neku shook his head, dazed and only half-listening, now. He tried to chase along the mental link to see the person at the other end of it more clearly, but they glided out of reach whenever he started to get close. It didn't matter; he knew the energy that hummed through the link, still had nightmares about it going out in a smile and an explosion of light. It was Joshua, he was back in a pact with _Joshua_ , and how did that even— how did the angel not _see_ it?

_We'll talk in a bit, Neku. Say something conciliatory to your guest._

Neku stared down at his hands, clenched and unclenched them. "Look," he said, as levelly as he could. "Josh is an ass, no question. And I'm not arguing that he and I have some major disagreements to sort out. But there's disagreeing, and then there's murdering the guy I disagree with. The murdering thing, I am _not okay with_. You're talking about a greater good?" He threw his hands in the air, his voice rising. Okay, not so level. "That's what Mr. H was thinking too, wasn't he? And you kicked him out for it. You want Joshua dead so bad, give the guy an A for effort and tell _him_ to try again."

"We had no quarrel with the fallen's aims," the angel said. "His methodology, however, was unforgiveable."

"His methodology." Neku gave an incredulous laugh. "Okay. I'm guessing you aren't talking about the bit where a whole bunch of people who were totally uninvolved in the whole thing got slaughtered—"

"Mr. Sakuraba—"

"—Because hey, _guess what—_ "

"Mr. Sakuraba," the angel said patiently, "you may wish to keep your voice down. Your mother is approaching."

He froze guiltily, shutting his eyes, and a moment later he heard his mother call, "Neku? Are you on the phone? It's dinnertime."

He opened his eyes. The angel watched him imperturbably.

Aloud, to the air in general, Neku said, "Yeah— gotta go, bye."

To the angel, he glared and pointed at the window and said, through gritted teeth, " _Out._ "

* * * * *

"Was that your friend on the phone? The one you went to meet earlier?"

It was some kind of offering on his mother's part, that she'd cooked dinner, and Neku's insides twisted at the cautious, almost wary look on her face. It wasn't like he couldn't understand where she was coming from with that; he hadn't really done interpersonal relationships for years, and the last time he'd tried had ended… badly. "Yeah," he managed as he picked at his plate of noodles. "Yeah, one of them." He couldn't talk about Beat right now. Just thinking about Beat made the dark reach back up, try to pull him down. And he had to call Rhyme as soon as he could, would have to say… something, that it was all his fault and he was sorry and he'd do what he could and it probably wouldn't be enough. "Um— her name's Shiki." He blinked a couple of times, unsteadily, at his plate, and hoped fervently that his mother wouldn't be inclined to latch onto the fact that this close new friend was a girl. Assumptions about his romantic life were something else he really wasn't up for at this moment in time.

"She's from school?"

"Yeah." They did, in fact, go to the same school, though their paths had never crossed. "Yeah, we started hanging out in the spring. Um." There was absolutely nothing he could say that would convey it. Even if he _could_ talk about the Game he'd have trouble explaining their relationship to anyone who hadn't been there. _So that thing where I died, that I can't tell you about because it didn't happen? Yeah, so after that, Shiki kind of saved my ass in the afterlife, and then I repaid her by, um, trying to murder her. So we worked through that. Then this really creepy guy kidnapped her because apparently I cared about her too much, and then I helped the guy who murdered_ me _to murder the creepy guy, and so I sort of rescued her, and… you know, we're best friends now. That makes sense. Right?_

The room swam around him; he could feel a headache starting. Aloud, Neku said, "The yakisoba's really good, Mom. Thanks for making it," and then managed to keep the wince off his face. _Teenage boy who's Friends With A Girl makes the most obvious and pathetic attempt ever to redirect his mother's attention._

But his mother smiled slightly and ducked her head, and maybe he'd really been that terrible and self-absorbed in recent years, that even such a small expression of appreciation— which was clearly, _blatantly_ a self-serving change of subject— would make for a successful distraction. "I know you used to like it," she said.

"Yeah." He forced a smile. "Still do. Listen, Mom…"

"About earlier," she said quickly, before he could marshal his excuses and bolt. "Neku, I promise you, I'm not trying to cut you off from the rest of the world. I just need to know where you're going, not come home and find you gone with no note and no call and— and I know it's been—" She hesitated. "We haven't talked much, for a long time."

"No," Neku conceded quietly, and abruptly that word, _we,_ jarred an old resentment loose. _No,_ we _haven't. Two-way street, Mom, and you've been sitting just as still at your end of it as I have at mine._

No. No, she was trying. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to shove the headache away. "Look, there's been a lot of stuff I've—"

"Just listen, all right?" she said, and he swallowed a frustrated sigh. "Everyone's been on edge lately, and— what I said about the mural, I _know_ that's not going to happen again, but that's not—"

Neku's head throbbed, and he was starting to think that maybe the room-spinning thing wasn't entirely a mental response to the stresses of the day. He shut his eyes, his mother's voice blurring into the hum of distant street noise, and for a moment everything slowed and stabilized.

From a long way away, his mother said, "Neku? Are you all right?"

He almost laughed. He ought to make a list, he thought, of hilariously inadequate things to say when the world was ending.

He opened his eyes, shoved away from the table, uttered a hasty "Excuse me," and made it to the bathroom just in time before the few bites of supper he'd eaten came back up.

* * * * *

"I'm just really, really tired, Mom. Couldn't sleep so well last night, and I think maybe something I had at Sunshine—"

_Also,_ Joshua said helpfully, _you've just been skipping betwen planes of reality with no training, protection, or even the faintest understanding of what you're doing._

Neku, busy insisting to his mother that he'd be fine with a little rest, ignored Joshua. He stumbled back through his bedroom door, shoved it safely shut behind him, gave the room a blearily cursory once-over, found it empty of angels as far as he could see, and toppled into bed.

_Your frequency's completely haywire, Neku. Focus._

He dug in his pocket for his cell phone. "Gotta check on Rhyme."

_I don't think she'll be reassured by you throwing up at her. Get yourself under control first. Imagine you're giving the room a scan._

He'd have liked to go on ignoring Joshua, but there was some obvious sense to this, and reluctantly he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling and listened for Noise. If they were drawn to negative emotions they should have been flooding the apartment, but he couldn't find any.

When he thought that he could move without losing whatever was left in his stomach, he pulled out his phone and hit Rhyme's number in the call list.

"Neku?"

"Rhyme. Hi. I'm sorry I couldn't call back sooner." He paused, struggling with what to say. "Listen, I…"

"You still remember him, right?" she asked. "I'm not going crazy? It's something because of the Game, right?"

"You're not going crazy, Rhyme. Yeah, it's because of the Game."

"Wasn't anything else it could be," she said, her voice small and strained. "Is it because he and I didn't really win? Are they—" She cut off, and Neku shut his eyes, hearing the rest of that question without her needing to ask. _Are they coming back for me next?_

"No," he said, with more conviction than he felt. "No. It's not— it's because I—" He couldn't tell her about any of it— couldn't risk them coming after her next, and oh, gods, what if they went after Shiki because of what he'd already said? No. Breathe.

He could still tell the truth, much as he didn't want to. He swallowed. "It's because I asked him for help this morning. I shouldn't have. I knew I shouldn't have, and I did, and I'm so, so sorry. It's all my fault."

"Neku," she said.

He shook his head and hurried onward, because apologies over something this terrible were useless if they didn't come with action. "He's still alive, okay? I'm going to do everything I can to get him back. I just…"

"Neku," she said again, as he paused to take a deep breath. He could hear her voice shaking, but it was her turn for conviction now. "Stop. I don't know what's going on, but I could hear how scared you were this morning. Did you think they were going to take him away if you asked? Did you _make_ them do it?"

"No, but I—"

"Then it's not your fault," she said, in a terrifyingly reasonable tone, and okay, Neku thought, he really needed to turn this conversation around. It was completely backwards, and completely fucking unfair, for _her_ to be the one trying to reassure _him._ Dammit. He was rapidly coming to see why Beat's attitude towards his little sister was a confused tangle of love and frustration and abject guilt. "It's like what they did to Shiki, right? Beat told me."

"Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, it's… I'm pretty sure it's a lot like what they did to Shiki."

"Okay," she said. "Are you in another Game?"

_Conversation has to stop there, Neku,_ Joshua said. _You've got to get out of the habit of thinking this is the kind of thing you can talk about to anyone you please. Believe me, it never ends well._

"Rhyme, I'm sorry," Neku said tiredly. "I really… really can't talk about it, okay? If I pull you into it too—"

"I'm already in it," she said, her voice turning ever so slightly stubborn. "My brother's gone."

Fair point. "Yeah, and he'd never forgive me if I let— if I didn't do all I could to keep the same thing from happening to you. And I'd never forgive myself, either. Please, Rhyme? Don't ask me."

A long silence, and then a sigh. "Is there anything I _can_ do?" she asked, and then added, a flash of unexpected humor in her tone, "Other than stay away from sharks?"

It startled an exhausted laugh out of Neku. "Honestly, that's the big one right now, Rhyme. Keep your head down, okay? Pretend things are normal, as much as you can. I think they're… pretty set on us pretending things are normal, right now. I'm sorry. I know it completely sucks. Look…" He hesitated, staring out the window at the fading light, and hated himself a little more for what he was about to say. "Give me a week, okay? If I haven't gotten him back in a week, then…" _Then Joshua has killed me again, and you won't actually be here to know about it._ "Then the version where I go it alone hasn't worked, and we'll try a different way. I promise."

_Sometimes,_ he remembered Shiki saying, _a white lie to someone you care about is okay, Neku._

"Neku," Rhyme said soberly, "if you haven't gotten him back in a week, will _you_ still be here?"

It was getting difficult, very difficult, to speak. "I'll try to be, Rhyme. That's the best I can promise you."

After he'd hung up the phone he lay in a daze for a while. The space around him wasn't as much of a blur as it had been, but his head still pounded, and he still didn't think he trusted himself to stand up anytime soon. Or to do anything at all that wouldn't bring the Higher Planes crashing down on everyone else's heads for it.

Joshua said nothing. The pact link had faded into something barely perceptible, so faint that Neku wasn't sure he wasn't imagining his sense of it, like a phantom limb. A part of him wondered if the link and Joshua's voice had really been there at all, or if he'd cracked under the stresses of the day and conjured them up in an attempt to distract himself. He could have thought some loud questions about that in Joshua's general direction, but skittered away from doing so; if Joshua _was_ there, then the pact certainly counted under 'further contact with the Underground,' and Neku didn't want to know what the angels would do for a second offense.

He didn't sleep, afraid of waking to another angel in his room uninvited, bringing news of some new catastrophe, but he drifted. The sun set, and his room went dark, apart from the multicolored city lights that cast dim, ghostly half-shadows through his window and the neon green glare of the digital clock by his bed.

Minutes slipped by, and hours. And then there was a familiar sigh in his mind, and the pact link settled into his awareness again, and Joshua said, _Still with me, Neku?_

He snapped out of the fog. _Yeah. But—_

_Good. Follow me._

It was and wasn't like their fusion psych had been. The sense of his body's own weight slipped away as the world blurred and spun into something dizzy and bright, and he was hurtling through space, and a hand reached out—

_This way._

—And Neku was sitting on metal and concrete, gazing out over a sea of city lights, his legs dangling over the edge of a high, cold rooftop. He reeled backwards and kicked his feet up and scrambled back from the edge, gasping. "Holy _shit._ Warn a guy next time." So much for the prohibition on speaking aloud to Joshua, but if the angels were watching then they couldn't _exactly_ have missed this.

"You're welcome." Joshua sat down next to him, no longer in his horrifically expensive dress clothes, but back to looking like a more-or-less normal teenager in jeans and that stupid bunny-eared hoodie he'd insisted on buying (or, more accurately, he'd insisted on Neku buying) from Lapin Angelique. "You clearly needed a change of scenery. So did I, for that matter." His expression darkened for a moment, his gaze going distant. "House arrest has gotten unbearably dull. They confiscated my phone."

"Your phone." Neku wanted to laugh and cry and punch him, hard. "I'm so incredibly fucking sorry for your loss, Joshua."

"Yes, so am I," Joshua said, impervious as ever to bitter sarcasm. "But it turns out they aren't at all fond of cameras that can see them. I don't think they actually have a regulation against it, because they're refusing to produce the relevant bit of the rulebook, but they're certainly pretending very emphatically that they do."

Neku shook his head and said nothing to this, too tired to be drawn into an argument about the importance of Joshua's goddamn cell phone versus Beat's actual life. His headache had gone, at least; that was something to be glad of. Then, belatedly, the facts of the situation sank in, and he scrambled to his feet, backing away from the edge of the building and from Joshua. "I'm not supposed to be talking to you," he said flatly. "They want me out of contact with the UG."

"I know." Joshua swung his feet out over the edge of the building and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, as thoroughly at ease as if he were sitting on a bar stool at WildKat.

"And _you're_ supposed to be locked up in your throne room."

"I am." Joshua grinned, studying his overview of the city as if it were a chess board. "Relax, Neku."

"Relax?" Neku spluttered. "Joshua, when they catch us— if they haven't caught us already, because hi, I'm pretty sure they're watching my apartment and you just teleported me across the city again—"

" _Neku,_ " Joshua said, sounding faintly cross. "They aren't going to catch us, because neither one of us is _here_. Not physically. You're still in bed— sleeping off the effects of your unexpected jaunt to the Underground, as far as they can see— and I'm still in the Room of Reckoning, bored out of my skull. This is…" He tilted his head to one side. "Call it an extension of psych space."

Neku hesitated. "Which means?"

"Well, as you noticed earlier— eventually— we're back in a pact. I tweaked it a bit, so that we don't need to be in a Noise pocket to make use of it. After that it's just a question of having a strong enough bond and a strong enough imagination. You must have realized that you and your dear Shiki, for example, didn't _really_ rampage through the streets of Shibuya astride a giant toy cat that shot lasers from its eyes."

"It was a pig," Neku said, rankled for reasons he couldn't quite explain by the tone in which Joshua had said _your dear Shiki._ "Shouldn't the angels have _noticed_ a pact?"

Joshua laughed softly. "Normally. But I took a few precautions." He reached out, making a pretend gun of his hand, and tapped his index finger gently on Neku's forehead in an echo of his gesture the previous day. "Physical contact as a conduit, for starters— no open space for the initial spark to cross, where it would have been harder to mask."

Neku stared at him. "Wait, _that's_ when you—"

"Yes. And happily, you were already on your way to building a decent set of mental defenses, without even realizing you were doing it. I shored them up a bit for you once I was in, just to be safe. Not even the angels can read you now." Leaning back, Joshua stretched his arms and then folded them behind his head, lying back on the rooftop with a satisfied smirk on his face. "Which is already driving them absolutely _crazy,_ but don't worry— they're not blaming you. They think I did something when you and I were in the Game."

"Oh," Neku managed, not sure he could be as enthusiastic as Joshua currently sounded about the idea of deliberately thumbing his nose at the people who held Beat's life and Shibuya's fate in the balance. "Great. You know, you said they couldn't see us last time, either."

"Yes, well. I lied."

Neku almost choked on this. "What you mean is, you got caught."

"Neku," Joshua said, in a _now you're being slow_ tone, "Sanae put the barrier in place. _I_ can shield my thoughts from them; he can't, not with any reliability. I knew when I asked him to modify it that he'd be found out."

"You're kidding me." Neku had the sinking feeling that he was going to be giving Joshua a lot of disbelieving stares in this conversation. "Then why even—if we've been in a pact since yesterday, why not just start with this?"

"Hm." Joshua's smile was not entirely pleasant, but his voice was mild. "You've met these people now, Neku. Do you think, given the choice, they would have told you anything more than they absolutely had to?"

"They _haven't_ told me anything more than they had to. They've barely told me that."

"I'd rethink your definition of _had to,_ " Joshua said. "But perhaps they'd have had a point. Would you have preferred not to have to pretend for the next week? It might have been kinder to let you go on thinking everything was normal."

Neku recoiled from the thought. "No."

"At least until you woke up a week from now—"

" _No._ "

"—And _surprise,_ " Joshua went on relentlessly, "and welcome back. Taking our duel as a trial run, we can already guess how well you'd have handled that one. I already know what you look like when you freeze up, Neku; I don't need to see it again." He gave Neku a sidelong glance, a cheerfully dangerous glint in his eyes. "Not on someone else's terms, anyway."

"Yeah," Neku muttered. "I get the picture, asshole."

Joshua ignored this. "So I thought I'd force their hand. I couldn't tell you truly in secret, because honestly, you have a terrible poker face. They'd have worked out you knew, and then they'd have worked out that we were talking. And I couldn't tell you openly; they'd have stopped me before that ever happened. But a secure channel that wasn't quite secure _enough_ had its benefits.  You now know; they know you know, so you don't have to pretend you don't; they know _how_ you know, and they've got to acknowledge— at least briefly— what they're doing to you. It's not much, but it's more than it sounds like."

Neku let out a shaky breath as he considered this. "Okay. Yeah. That… seems like way too much work for _not much,_ but okay."

"Mm. Well, that's only your side of it; there were others." Joshua's expression turned pensive, his eyes narrowing slightly. "They get to feel quite smug about themselves for catching me out in an act of open defiance, for starters, and are thus reassured that I may be clever, but I'm not _quite_ clever enough. And of course I was duly chastened by the slap on the wrist I got for it, and I'm now being a good boy who wouldn't dream of disobeying them again." He flashed Neku a bright, thoroughly disingenuous grin. "Which is a far more useful state of mind for them to be in than their previous one, and strongly suggests that not only can they not see us here— they won't even think to look."

"Oh," Neku said, weakly. "Right."

Joshua spread his arms wide, taking in the rooftop and, by extension, Shibuya. "So here we are, and you're welcome. Because you needed _somewhere_ safely out of their sight and hearing, Neku. I mean, no offense, but you've been a wreck. You don't really do stress well, do you?"

Neku snorted. _If that were true, Joshua, our pact would have killed you the first time a Taboo rhinoceros tried to trample me._ There was something deeply wrong with the fact that the words _the first time_ were actually needed in that sentence. "This is a little beyond stress, Josh."

Joshua shrugged. "So learn to take a favor when it's handed to you. And take this as an opportunity to step back and clear your head, in the company of the one person you can safely and honestly discuss all this with. Me."

Neku choked out a bitter laugh. " _Safe_ and _honest._ Yeah, those are the two words that come to mind when I think of you."

Joshua's answering chuckle was quiet and insufferably smug as ever. "And yet you trust me."

"Yeah, well, don't push it." Never mind that Joshua had already pushed it far enough to circle the globe at least once or twice. Neku shook his head and turned to stare out over the glittering city, sidling cautiously nearer to the edge of the building. "Are we on top of 104?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I like the view. Thought you'd appreciate it as well."

Neku sat back down, peered gingerly down at the hordes of pedestrians swarming across the scramble, and tried not to think about the height. "Yeah, because I haven't seen this place enough in the last month."

"Well, sometimes all that's needed is a new perspective on the familiar. You ought to know that as well as anyone." Joshua laughed, very softly. "But that wasn't actually the view I meant, Neku. Look up."

Neku looked up, and his breath caught in his throat.

It wasn't like he'd never left Tokyo, of course. He'd _seen_ stars in large numbers, albeit mostly when he was younger and he and his parents hadn't yet stopped trying to be a family and had done occasional family-ish things, like going on vacations out of the city. In more recent years he'd… well, he'd been to the planetarium once on a class trip. In real life, the city lights drowned out the sky.

But of course this wasn't real life. This was Joshua's imagined "extension of psych space," whatever the hell that really meant, and apparently one thing it meant was that the effects of light pollution had taken a hike. The sky glittered to match and outdo the city beneath it, like— like one of those goddamn long-exposure photographs that people took on clear nights up in the mountains, and then probably tweaked in Photoshop to make them sparkle even more, just to rub in the fact that they weren't the kind of sight your average twenty-first century human being was ever actually going to see.

"Oh. Okay, yeah," he heard himself say, dazedly. "Yeah, that's… that's a view."

"Told you."

Neku craned his neck and stared up at the sky for a few minutes, not quite willing to lie back and make himself comfortable. That would have meant conceding a level of breathtakingness to the whole thing that he wasn't remotely willing to admit to Joshua, never mind give him any credit for. But he was just as unwilling to turn his gaze away, and he couldn't help thinking of the mural in Udagawa, and all the time he'd spent just looking, hungry for the brightness and the life it gave off.

He pushed the thought of Mr. H aside. He wouldn't have admitted it aloud for the world, but Joshua was right; Neku needed this, this moment of stillness and peace and beauty, more than he could have put words around.

Miracle of miracles, Joshua was silent; not one snide comment about the look on Neku's face or know-it-all lecture about the constellations, not one word about whatever the fuck else he was dying to make sure everyone knew that he knew. For some measureless stretch of time, Neku felt like he could breathe again.

Then he thought about sitting in silence with Shiki the previous night, and wondered, uncomfortably, if this was so different.

It didn't feel that different, except for the knowledge that Shiki would be yelling _he shot you, Neku, get out of there_ in his ear right about now.

It wasn't that complicated, she'd insisted. And on some level, Neku knew she wasn't wrong. But a month ago, stripped of his memories and reduced down to whatever he was at his core, Neku had almost killed _her._ And if she hadn't, somehow, gotten past what he'd done, they'd both have died. (Though he wondered if she really had gotten past it, or if her world would always freeze and break around her when she remembered being trapped and unable to breathe, as his did when he remembered the gun.)

But she'd disentangled it from him, somehow, pulled apart who he was from what he'd done, even though in that instant they'd been _exactly_ the same thing. She'd had to. They were partners, and they'd needed each other to survive, but it had been more than a temporary truce to save her own neck. She'd still snuck out to see him last night when he'd called, when he'd needed more than anything in the world not to be alone.

And that was the thing, that was the piece that Neku kept circling back around to: what Mr. H had said, the day Neku had made that goddamn sprint across Shibuya because of Joshua's stupidly effective fake mission mail: _In a way, he's been alone all his life._

Neku knew exactly how much damage isolation and loneliness could do. And that if they went on for long enough, they convinced you that you _wanted_ them, that they were keeping you safe, that you were better than the people they'd cut you off from.

And he had the sudden, dizzy sense that this whole teleport-to-the-rooftop _thing_ might be Joshua's version of that one a.m. call, or at least the closest Joshua would get to it, because it wasn't only Neku who had no one he could safely talk to, was it?

And because it wasn't only Neku who'd been betrayed in all this, even if Joshua seemed inclined to wave away attempted murder as a minor disagreement.

Awkwardly, reluctant to break the silence but no longer able to hold onto it, Neku asked, "You hear any news about Mr. H yet?"

Joshua sighed, and for a moment didn't say anything; Neku looked down at him, and found him still watching the sky. At last Joshua said, "He's alive, and apparently behaving himself. They brought him back, made him rework the barrier and put some additional wards in place— all far more closely scrutinized for illicit modifications, this time. We… didn't get a chance to talk, but he looked well. I mean, inasmuch as a man cast from paradise and almost certainly condemned to a bitter end _can_ look well."

"Oh."

"I don't think they'll do anything with him before the Game," Joshua said, his expression distant. "He's still Shibuya's Producer— they execute him, they'll have to put another one in place, and there's no sense in going through that before they've worked out if there's going to be a Shibuya." He gave a matter-of-fact shrug. "Anyway, depending on how the Game goes, I…suspect they've got hopes of keeping their hands clean there, as well."

Neku winced, but it made sense. Mr. H was surely as intertwined with the city as Shiki or Beat or any of them. "You mean he'll go too, if Shibuya does?"

A pause. "Yes, Neku, that's what I meant."

Joshua fell silent again. Neku went back to watching the stars, out of things to say that wouldn't fall straight onto that list that he'd wished he could give to his mother.

"You know," Joshua said a minute or two later, "there's something you haven't asked me, since all this started."

There were a lot of things, Neku thought, a _hell_ of a lot of things. He found himself morbidly curious to know which one Joshua thought was the important one. He glanced down. "Yeah?"

"The angel said it himself." Joshua's eyes were unreadable, his voice calm. "With everything that's at stake, surely I ought to surrender now? They aren't me, Neku. They _will_ take it all if you lose. If I were simply to let you kill me, a great deal of trouble— and hundreds of thousands of lives— would be saved. I expect it's occurred to you."

Neku swung his feet over the edge of the roof, stared down at his sneakers, his fascination with the sky abruptly gone. "Yeah. Yeah, it has."

"And?"

Neku shrugged, kicking his heels against the concrete, and watched as a band of teenagers streamed out of 104 and down the sidewalk, laughing and calling to each other. "And what?"

Joshua's answering silence stretched out. At last he said, "And so there's something I want to be very certain you understand."

"What's that?"

Joshua sat up and silently held out his hand, and his mouth twisted into a wry half-smile.

Neku looked into his eyes, and then braced himself and, warily, took the offered hand. In spite of himself he flinched as they touched, half expecting some kind of jolt or explosion— or gunshot— but there was nothing, just Joshua's fingers closing around Neku's palm, and Neku shifted awkwardly, trying not to feel completely trapped by the gesture. It was a small thing, surely. They'd been in a pact, were back in one now, and compared to that— the sharing of soul and imagination and life force— holding hands was probably not a big deal.

It still _felt_ weird and overly intimate. Again he thought of Shiki; it hadn't felt that way with her, and his thoughts immediately responded, defensively, with _Yeah, but she's a girl._ After longer consideration, he thought, _Yeah, I don't think that's actually it. She's not an arrogant asshole who thinks she owns my soul, and she's never shot me, and if she_ had _she wouldn't have fucking laughed about it. I think that might have more to do with it._

_I trust him. I trust him. I trust him. I trust him. Mostly. I think._

"Relax, Neku," Joshua murmured, a spark of humor in his voice. "I assure you I'm not as interested as you think I am."

Neku's face burned, and he snatched his hand away, and snapped, "If you're not _interested_ , quit reading my mind."

Joshua laughed and held his hands up, palms out, in mock surrender. "I wasn't. Just your face. I did tell you you'd be terrible at poker."

Neku scowled and looked away. "It's a real mystery why anyone would want to kill you, you know that?"

"Oh, don't sound so wounded."

"I'm not _wounded._ " Gods no. It wasn't like he had wanted— no, not even finishing that thought, no matter how sincerely Joshua swore he wasn't reading minds right now.

"Neku. You're adorable, but you're fifteen. Actually fifteen, not died-in-your-teens-and-stayed-there fifteen. And I'd tell you to come back in a decade or two—"

"I didn't say I _wanted—_ "

"—But we've both got rather more immediate concerns right now, so—" Again, Joshua held his hand out. "I won't say I don't bite, because we both know _that's_ not true, but I've no intention of doing so just now. Fair enough?" And there was that rare, open, friendly smile, which Neku was strongly beginning to suspect he should take as his signal to run like hell. "Trust me, Neku."

Neku gave a quiet, resigned snort. "I'm going to regret the day I ever said I did, aren't I?"

"You don't already?" The soft laugh. "That's something, at least. Now shush, and take my hand, and listen."

Neku sighed and took his hand. "What am I listening f—"

It had felt, before, like a soundtrack just out of hearing.

Now he could hear it, and _soundtrack_ was an utterly inadequate word. It should have been chaos. It _was_ chaos, a million different tunes all playing at once, all in different keys, at least half of them firmly believing they were the main melody, but it— it _worked,_ in a way it completely shouldn't have. They wove together in impossible harmonies and clashed off of each other in furious dissonance and somehow they made something that rose above the mess, that spilled through the city, that _was_ the city— everyone and everything in it. It picked him up and swept him away from himself, pulling him through empty alleys and packed nightclubs and quiet cafes. And crowds, almost everywhere. He remembered talking to Rhyme in the Game about how it had felt to scan a crowd, like trying to pick up every radio station at once— but that had nothing on this. This wasn't cheap surface-level stuff about the latest entry on freaking Eiji Oji's blog or the latest episode of the Tin Pin show. This was _everything,_ hopes and joys and terrors and he shouldn't be looking at any of it, except there were so many of them that each one was barely a drop in the ocean, for all that every last one he could see thought themselves the center of it all.

And then Joshua let go of his hand, and Neku remembered, abruptly, that he was one person in a single human body, and he opened his eyes and sucked in a sharp, startled breath as the music faded and the usual city noise filtered back in. "Oh," he managed, after a long moment.

Joshua had drawn his knees up, hugging them tightly to his chest; for a moment, he looked young and weirdly vulnerable. He gave Neku a long, intent, expressionless look. " _That's_ what you're fighting for in this, you understand? That's what's at stake."

Neku, still reeling, was hit by a sudden flash of anger. "And you— you'd just—" He struggled for words. "You'd _win,_ and let it all—"

"Neku," Joshua said quietly. "A month ago, I thought it was broken beyond repair, and I was ready to wipe it out myself. I chose otherwise, and I stand by that choice. I'd still prefer— very much prefer— that it not end that way." He tugged his shirtsleeves over the palms of his hands, and Neku was suddenly aware that the night was colder than he'd noticed. "But what I _won't_ do," Joshua went on, "is hand it over to someone who doesn't have the strength to protect it. That does, in fact, include the ability to make choices which one may, on a personal human level, find painful and unjust. If it comes down to that, then yes, Neku." He shrugged. "I'll win. It'll be kinder than leaving it— and you— to fall apart more slowly."

Neku stared at him for a long, silent moment, and then turned away, and rested his head in his hands, and shut his eyes.

"Of course," Joshua added, his tone once again as cheerful as if they _weren't_ about to be shoved into a stupid freaking Battle Royale with the fate of the city at stake, "I do say _if._ And I wanted to start with that, because you do need to understand what's on the line, and you do need to understand that regardless of what we do, it may come down to that. However. We do, now, have an _actual_ secure channel, as opposed to my heavily-monitored throne room. You understand?"

Neku froze. _Joshua, I swear. If you don't have an actual fucking plan, and you make me hope…_

Slowly, shakily, he raised his head and nodded.

"Good." Joshua nudged him with his elbow, in teasingly friendly fashion. "Let's talk about how we can jack this Game, then, shall we?"


	9. let's see what happens

_Let's talk about how we can jack this Game._

The words hung in the air, a promise too bright to look straight at, for fear of being burned. Neku sat in their glare for a moment, and tried to remember how to breathe. "I'm listening," he managed.

"Good. Here's the thing," Joshua said. "They're doing this for a lot of reasons, but the one they've hung their hat on, in terms of forcing it to happen, is the instability. You have to understand, entry fees are usually much smaller. An item, a talent, a memory—" He glanced at Neku, a knowing light in his eyes. "Or collection of memories, obviously."

_Or a person?_ Neku almost asked, but this wasn't the time to start a fight about what had happened to Shiki, or the other players in his third Game. Or about the offhand tone in Joshua's voice, as if the things that _were_ smaller were meaningless. As if it hadn't obviously been a punch to Beat's gut every time Rhyme had looked at him and not known who he was, as if Shiki hadn't nearly turned herself inside out trying to be somebody else, as if waking up with nothing but his name hadn't been the single most terrifyingly helpless moment of Neku's life up to that point. (Granted, the following weeks had kind of blasted that record out of the water, but… still.) But Joshua knew exactly what those losses had done, and he knew exactly what he sounded like, and there had been a dare in that glance: _Go ahead. Call me on it. See how that works out for you._

Later. "Go on," Neku said quietly.

One corner of Joshua's mouth turned up, and Neku wondered, again, if the Composer was reading his mind. "Here, obviously, the consequences are going to be much larger-scale. Their laws wouldn't let them _do_ this if they didn't have what they deemed an appropriate justification, and they do follow their laws, scrupulously. Which suggests that if Shibuya's reality were repaired—fully repaired, not just patched over—they would let go of it, I think. To do otherwise would be interference on a scale they could no longer condone."

"So we fix the instability," Neku said slowly. "Before the Game starts?"

"Mm. Unfortunately, that's where it gets slightly tricky: we can't. I _could,_ if I weren't under constant surveillance—and if," Joshua added pointedly, "I had a Conductor who knew his work."

Neku couldn't help rolling his eyes at this. _Don't look at me. You're the one who—_ no, also not the time.

"But they're watching me too closely, and even if they weren't, and even _if_ you accepted the job with a minimum of argument—" the dryness in Joshua's tone suggested he knew the odds of the latter—"a week wouldn't be enough for you to learn everything you'd need to know."

Neku's heart sank. "But once we're _in_ the Game, Shibuya will be gone."

"Well… no. It won't be erased yet, just shifted out of reach. So the challenge will be to bring it back in reach. To keep the instability from spreading, the higher-ups are most likely going to have to hold it in a sort of stasis, in an imaginary space something like this one—but it's going to take a lot of them to maintain it."

"So how the hell do we get into a space like that?"

Joshua's answering smile was slight. "Not easily. But it'll exist in their minds, so…" He shrugged. "We find one of them, and we get in through their mind. The good news is that they're so keen on oversharing that _if_ they don't see us coming, they're unlikely to put up much in the way of a mental defense. And if we can get in, it might actually be easier to repair the damage there, with everything put on pause, than it would be from the Underground. The bad news… well."

Neku snorted softly. "—Is every other fucking thing that's happened in the last twenty-four hours?" But he said it without much rancor, his spirits lifted more than he quite wanted to admit. Hope could _hurt_ if he wasn't careful, and he wasn't ready to get too close to it yet. But there was a plan that didn't involve blindly doing the bidding of the Higher Planes, and regardless of whether or not it worked, he'd rather think about going down fighting the enemy, together, than the alternative.

Besides, in the context of the last month, the fact that someone with an actual freaking clue what was going on was actually telling him about it was borderline miraculous. And it was Joshua telling him, which… well.

Which meant maybe, in whatever screwed up way Joshua was capable of, Joshua did actually care, and maybe Neku wasn't actually a complete idiot to trust him.

Which… mattered, to a degree that Neku would probably not have admitted at gunpoint, and which he shied away from examining almost as warily as he'd shied away from letting himself hope, because it threatened to hurt just as badly. But there was a warmth to it, to the fact that Joshua for once was keeping the mind games and condescension and insults at a minimum and talking through this, confiding in him as if they _were_ actually partners, and on some kind of equal footing.

Which should have been a very low bar to clear, but, well, it was Joshua.

"Well, yes," Joshua said, "but I was going to say that neither one of us has the strength to go toe-to-toe with them, and sneaking up on a single member of a millions-strong hivemind with eyes everywhere is going to be slightly difficult. Still, we have a point or two on our side."

He sat back and gave Neku an expectant look, and Neku thought about it. "They can't read our minds. Against _millions strong, eyes everywhere,_ though, that's not much."

Joshua laughed softly. "Sometimes, Neku—as you politely refrained from shouting at me just a few minutes ago—the small things _are_ important. The higher-ups are so used to plucking whatever they need out of people's heads that they're genuinely hindered by the fact that they can't, here. That isn't speculation, either. I've been…" There was the slightest hesitation, so brief that Neku wondered if he'd imagined it. "Testing it a bit."

Neku eyed him narrowly. "Testing it how, exactly? I thought you said you were on your best behavior after you got caught."

This got a wry, rueful smile and a shrug. "I didn't say _best_. I said that as far as they're concerned, I took what I got for it and learned my lesson. This was before we'd gotten to that, anyway, so it doesn't count." Joshua toyed with a strand of his hair, twirling it around his finger and studying it intently for a moment before he continued. "I can say this, with some certainty: they have real trouble grasping the idea that someone might not be scared of them. They think that given time, surrender to their power is all but assured. And they don't have the nerve to call a bluff when the stakes are too high."

_Joshua,_ Neku did not say, _I am scared of them. I am fucking_ terrified _of them._ "Do I _want_ to know what you did to test that?"

Joshua watched the crowds far below, the lights of the city reflected in his eyes. After a moment he said, "Anyway. It gives us certain advantages. If we both _appear_ to resign ourselves to the Game as written, they're going to buy it, because they honestly think that we're only struggling against the inevitable, and that we're both reasonable enough to see that, eventually. Which is to say that they're not above seeing what they want to see. And that? That we can use.   It's what any successful illusion runs on. It _will_ break, but if we're careful, that won't happen until after Shibuya's future is on safer ground."

Below, a crowd of late-night commuters spilled out into the scramble from Shibuya Station. In the glare of the advertising screens and storefront signs, they were a river of jostling, shifting colors, rushing along. Neku thought about that, and thought about watching from someplace so much higher that they were all barely flecks of paint on a brush or pixels on a screen, tiny motes in a far, far bigger picture. It was probably easy to forget they all mattered, when that was your constant vantage point.

"You think it's really possible?" he asked, very quietly. "Don't bullshit me on this, Joshua."

"Possible? Yes," Joshua said, and then was silent for a moment before adding, "Likely? I can't give you odds, Neku. There are too many unknowns, and I… have no way to make most of them known. If we play our hands well, we may be able to learn more once the Game begins, but ultimately we're still going to be heading deep into 'try it and see what happens' territory."

Neku nodded. That was about what he'd expected, though he'd been curious to see if Joshua would admit it honestly.

"Of course," Joshua added quietly, "there's another difficulty which I expect you can work out."

There was, but Neku found he felt strangely calm about it as he said it aloud. "If we pull this off, they're not going to be happy about it, are they?"

"No. No, they're not." And Joshua's sudden grin was an expression far too feral for a boy who was currently wearing a fuzzy hoodie with sparkly purple trim and bunny ears. A sudden breeze stirred, and he leaned forward into it, precariously far; his hand shifted on the edge of the roof as he braced one foot against the side of the building, and his eyes lit, and Neku tensed, because for an instant in that light the mad wild boy from Udagawa was back. Back, and dying to jump, just for the rush of it.

And maybe this space was Joshua's own imagination, not the real thing, but they were still eight stories up from the pavement, and it being Joshua's imagination didn't actually mean it couldn't be deadly. Actually, now that Neku thought about it, it probably meant the exact opposite. So he waited, ready to lunge sideways and haul the Composer back from the edge—because things being what they were, if Joshua jumped, he'd probably pull Neku with him.

_Yeah, or you'd grab him and refuse to let go. Even when you realized you couldn't hold him back._

The thought shook him, and he shoved it away, but it sidled back and whispered: _You know it's true._

And then the instant passed, and the light faded, and Joshua sat back, his smile shifting to something softer. "No. That's the catch, of course. The two of us teaming up to defy their authority—they very much don't want that to happen. At that point, Neku, we've really got two options. We make a run for it—skip worlds, keep moving, see how far we can go. Or…" He shrugged and tucked one foot up on the edge of the roof, pulling his knee to his chest, and tilted his head to one side. "We charge in on them with guns blazing, and see how far we can go." There was something odd, almost wistful, in his smile now, and something in his gaze said he was watching worlds Neku could not see. "Either way, once they're no longer holding Shibuya for ransom against our good behavior, we make a lot of noise in the right directions. Try to draw enough attention that anyone who could do more might, and try to sway the consciences of the more cautious patches of the collective, the ones who are going along with this because they see the risk the instability poses, but who aren't so keen on it beyond that. They do exist, I think. But I'm afraid I _can_ give you our odds at that point, Neku: they're extremely bad. I'd go so far as to say abysmal. If we ran and we were very lucky, we might make it for a few years, though."

Neku nodded, slowly, taking a moment to breathe and take this in. This too was about what he'd expected, except for the possibility of any time at all. And except for— "Did you say skip _worlds_?"

"Oh yes." At Neku's stare, Joshua added, patiently, "Alternate realities. I'd explain, but if you've ever watched any science fiction show ever, you probably know the basics. Everything happens somewhere. Well…" Again the faraway look. "A lot of things, anyway." Then he brightened. "There's one where everyone plays Tin Pin instead of killing each other. One Yoshiya Kiryu writes a weekly column for the game's top fan magazine, and you—well, that reality's version of you—" Joshua leaned in slightly, his tone turning confidential. "You pretend you can't stand him, but you secretly save all of his columns in a scrapbook. It's adorable."

Neku blinked at him. "You're joking."

"I'm actually not. I visited the place not long ago, and happened to meet both of them." Amusement lit in Joshua's eyes, and he winked. "I don't give your alternate self good odds of keeping his indifferent facade for long, though. That Yoshiya was _clearly_ willing to go after what he wanted."

"Oh." Neku stared bemusedly into space for a moment, considering this. It probably said something about the month he'd had that he was willing to take it pretty much as read. "Lucky… other me. Question: do you live to make my life hell in _every_ universe, or just most of them?"

"Oh, only the ones where we've met, I expect. And where we're anything like ourselves." Joshua grinned, flashing him a sidelong glance. "But honestly, would you really want me not to?"

Neku considered _that_ for a moment, and decided, on the whole, that it was safest not to answer.

"The point is," Joshua said, "the multiverse is a vast place full of countless possibilities, and there are so many possible paths you can travel that it can take even an angel quite some time to work out where you've gone." He coughed, and there was something entirely unrepentant in his voice as he added, "That one's also not speculation."

Neku narrowed his eyes. "Mr. H have to track you down, did he?"

"Once or twice, possibly." But the humor faded from Joshua's expression, and he sighed. "He did manage it in the end, though. So… you know." A nod to the crowds far below. "Regardless of which way we went, Neku, there'd be no waking up at the scramble afterwards."

And there it was. Neku managed a shaky chuckle. "Well. That'd be one relief, anyway. Sleeping on pavement was getting old."

"Well done," Joshua murmured. "There's always a bright side." He propped his chin on his hand, his gaze pensive. "Look, I can't promise you any miracles on this, Neku. Only a chance at a future for Shibuya—and let's be honest, they've already given you that, and thrown a chance at your own future into the bargain. I wouldn't make it easy for you, we both know that, but you…" He searched Neku's face, and it suddenly took all Neku had not to look away. "You could, I think," Joshua said quietly. "Given the time to get stronger. If you could bring yourself to."

Neku swallowed, his mouth dry, and looked down, and shut his eyes, his arms aching at the memory of the gun's leaden weight in his hands. And his throat closing up at the memory of Shiki's voice, small and frightened: _Don't kill me._ "A month ago I could have. Now…"

Joshua's laugh was soft and fond. "Oh, Neku. A month ago, I'd have taken you to pieces if you'd tried. If I was feeling generous, it would have been over before you knew it had started—but let's be honest, I wouldn't have been feeling generous." Neku looked up at him sharply, but there was only quiet self-deprecation in Joshua's smile. "We're neither of us quite who we were a month ago, Neku. Nothing to do but live with that, I'm afraid. Until we don't."

_Neither of us._ Neku looked away again, down at the scramble, trying to ignore that disconcertingly easy warmth rising in his chest once more. Joshua had murdered him, and Joshua had saved him from himself; that wasn't news at this point. And he'd… figured that the events of the month had had some kind of impact on Joshua, as well, or why had Shibuya stayed standing? But it was the first he'd heard Joshua acknowledge it openly.

"The thing is," Joshua added, "daring last stands are all well and good for the conscience, Neku, but they're still _last_ stands, and they rarely turn out to be anything else. In theory, the higher-ups' version would offer you a slightly better chance at survival, at least for a while longer. Still, we both know you've developed some… how did Kariya phrase it? Some hangups on the subject." A brief, wry grin crossed his face at those words. "So… you know. Think on it."

Tiredly, Neku said, "Joshua, I don't need to think on it. I'm in." He looked up, meeting the Composer's eyes, holding his gaze. "You know I'm in."

"Oh. Fine. That was easy." Joshua stretched his arms over his head and yawned, and a faintly sleepy note crept into his voice. "Well, that bit of it. The real trick will be making it look believable when I don't take _any_ of the approximate five hundred chances to kill you that you're undoubtedly going to hand me before the end of day one."

Neku snorted. "Says you."

That soft laugh, and silence, and they sat and watched the scramble for a bit. And then it was Neku who stretched and lay back to stare at the stars, feeling—for the first time since this mess had started—oddly contented, not just as if he was shoving the horrors back to think about them later but as if things were really going to be all right. Which was funny, he thought, given that he'd just pretty well cemented his own odds of surviving this thing at zero… but really, after the last month that wasn't anything new, and _no waking up at the scramble afterwards_ sounded, at least, far more restful than the perpetual circles Shades had run him in. He still had questions—so, so many questions—but they no longer felt so urgent as to drive him to the edge of panic. He wasn't going to be in this alone, and that was more than he'd thought he was going to get, and it was enough that as he felt the exhaustion of the day creeping back to take him over, he didn't feel like he had to fight it.

Though it was cold up here. He lifted his head and eyed Joshua in his hoodie for a moment, and then thought, hang on. This was an imaginary space—and it was Joshua's imagination, mainly, but the two of them were linked through the pact, and Joshua had said it was something like their shared psych space, right?

Experimentally, Neku imagined he was wearing his favorite J of the M jacket. Nothing happened.

He thought for a moment, and then tried to reach for the same sense in his mind that he'd had using psychs—not just imagining, but _knowing_ they were going to happen, and putting a burst of energy into them in that way he couldn't have explained.

And there was the jacket, warm and soft around his shoulders. He blinked, faintly startled it had worked, and then grinned. Oh, that had _potential,_ or it would when he was a little less tired.

Joshua, still sitting up to watch the city, glanced back over his shoulder. One corner of his mouth turned up. "Settling in to stay?"

Neku shrugged. "You got anywhere else to be?"

A tilt of Joshua's head conceded this. "No. No visitors at the moment beyond a couple of extremely stolid and untalkative guards. If someone does turn up unannounced, though, I may have to step away, so if you suddenly find yourself back in your room—"

Neku laughed tiredly. "As long as you're not dumping me at the scramble this time, we're good."

~ 

Joshua smiled faintly as he turned back to the city. He'd expected little less, really. Neku's worries were for those he cared about; he feared unjust blood on his hands, at this point, far more than he feared his own death. A path that promised to let him avoid that greater fear had been all he'd needed to pull himself together.

_You've come a long way in a month, Neku. Just a bit further to go yet, but you'll get there._

A shift in Neku's frequency said, before long, that he'd fallen asleep. Joshua tilted his head to one side, noticing the change in the other's breathing as it slowed and relaxed, at the same time as the energy coming across their pact link lost a few more of its tense, sharp edges. It wasn't the kind of thing he was usually in a position to notice firsthand, and there was something strange and faintly uncomfortable about the way it caught his attention now, when he hadn't meant to notice it. It was too human a thing. As was the brief, painful burst of wonder that had swept through him at the realization that Neku was trusting enough to fall asleep _here._

It had been one thing in the last month to pretend to be nothing more than human again: an entertaining novelty, to deliberately step out of connection with a good nine-tenths of his senses and abilities, and see the world from that limited vantage point. Dangerous after a fashion—and he'd needed that rush of danger far more badly than he'd realized when he started it—but it had only been a game.

It was another thing, far more dangerous and far less needed, to find himself slipping back to it unintentionally.

He pulled his focus away and sat in silence, letting his mind and self drift out across the skyline. He had a city to attend to. Though this was an imaginary projection of Shibuya, it was drawn straight from the real one, and if he looked for them he could see, from here, the ripples and faultlines where reality had begun to grow unstable. He looked, and breathed a silent curse. He'd been unable to check on them in the last day, thanks to the higher-ups' interference, and they were spreading; yesterday they had barely been perceptible to his sight.

One whorl centered on Neku's apartment; no surprise there. He looked more closely, and found it swirling through the soul of his former proxy's mother.

Some knowledge was automatic, written in her frequency: _Ayako Sakuraba, age 38. Left a promising start in journalism to raise her son, but untreated depression in a Noise-heavy work environment would very likely have ended her career by now if she hadn't. Slightly more psychic than average, but with no awareness or control of that fact._

She lay awake on her bed, staring bleakly at the wall; Joshua glanced briefly at her thoughts, but he'd heard enough of her conversation with Neku that there was little question how the instability had hit her. Though the past month's reality had been shifted, Neku's death carefully excised, Neku had hung onto the original version with a far stronger grip than most could have managed. From _his_ perspective it had still happened—and his perspective was spreading, and his mother's mind was sensitive enough to those types of shifts that she'd have picked it up sooner than most.

And so even as the world around Ayako was telling her that everything was fine, she was having increasingly vivid flashbacks to a conversation that had told her something very different: _Mrs. Sakuraba? You might want to sit down, ma'am…_

And the trouble was, Joshua thought as he pulled his perspective back and began scanning through the other problem spots, that it wouldn't end there. One or two people would be manageable, but Neku had spread it to his friends, and their souls didn't shine as brilliantly as his did, but they were still returners from the Game, and that never came without a promise and a price: _You'll change the way that people see the world._

And they were—by little more than proximity, by the looks. Shiki hadn't said a word about the Game to her beloved Eri, but Eri had sketched an image in her design book just this morning of a man in sunglasses and a tailored suit that shimmered with a hint of scales, and on a whim she'd given him black wings. She'd stared at it for a long moment, unsettled for reasons she couldn't name, and then torn the page out and crumpled it and threw it in the trash, which was a thing she hadn't done to one of her sketchbooks in years.

Beat's parents weren't having flashbacks like the unfortunate Ayako, but until the angels had snatched him up and plastered over the very fact of his existence, they'd known _something_ was off, and this morning his father had nearly started an argument with him before flinching away from it, as sharply as if the consequences could have been deadly.

Even little Rhyme, back only because—well, _officially_ because dedication like her brother's had deserved some reward, and after everything Beat had done it would have been cruel to send him back without her. Unofficially, they'd both been sent back mainly as a peace offering to Neku. (At least if, by _peace offering,_ one meant _preemptive strike in the upcoming negotiations over the appointment of Shibuya's new Conductor_.) Rhyme hadn't had time to grow in the same way that Shiki or Beat had—but it was becoming apparent now that whether she knew it or not she had picked something up from her time as Noise. Something that got into people's heads instinctively, and pulled uncomfortable truths up to the surface. She'd been sitting on the apartment step this morning, and a car had gone by much faster than it should have, and the driver had glanced over and caught sight of her and his eyes had widened and he'd slammed on the brake, his face going white with shock. And then the moment had passed and he'd driven on, wondering what had come over him.

And that was just in the last day. It must have accelerated after Neku's reunion with his friends; faint hairline fractures were starting around Ramen Don, where the four had gone for lunch together yesterday, and a delicate spiderweb was beginning to lace through and out of 104. People who worked in a shop with a Reaper decal for any length of time tended to become pretty thoroughly immune to psychic strangeness, but the girl who worked at Edoga had gone home wondering uneasily if that kid with the spiky orange hair was the same one whose face had been on the news a few weeks ago, for… reasons she couldn't remember now. And why she'd kept hearing tires screech in her thoughts every time she'd looked at the sweet little blonde girl who'd been tagging along with her brother and his friends.

A stray broken note, seemingly unconnected to any of the others, caught Joshua's attention in the vicinity of Hirō Hospital, and he took a closer look, curious. It was coming from a young man on life support in the ER, mid-twenties, who'd been rushed to the hospital in critical condition that afternoon after—ah. Suicide attempt, but how was that connected to the instability? Joshua skipped his focus back through the day, frowning. The man had begun the day in good spirits, out to buy a present for his girlfriend's birthday, and somewhere in the middle of it he'd flipped from cheerful anticipation to frantic desperation—

_There._ Joshua narrowed in on the moment the change had begun—and saw, and realized, and sighed. Too much on his mind, or he'd have recognized the man sooner.

He was the driver who'd hit Beat and Rhyme. Which hadn't happened, in this reality, and the event should have been gone from the man's mind, and it had been. Until he'd passed Beat on the sidewalk, as Beat was heading home from his encounter with the Reapers, and the man had frozen, paralyzed by the sudden appearance of the ghost—and Beat had stopped, and stared, and breathed, " _You._ "

Then Beat had shaken his head and turned and bolted for home, fists clenched, but it had been enough. In the burst of rage and fear and anguish in that word and in that stare, the man had been hit with the entire story, in barely a heartbeat—not just the accident, but everything after.

And now he was in the hospital,

Well. That explained a lot about how cavalier the angels had been about snatching Beat away. Joshua wondered if Neku would feel better about it or worse, if he knew that their trip to see the Reapers hadn't been the reason at all—only an excuse lit on after the fact, presumably on the rationale that it would be a shame to waste a perfectly good intimidation opportunity.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the angels had, after a fashion, a point. Beat hadn't meant to do what he'd done, but it was a prime example of why Players who went back _didn't_ keep their memories. Too much of that sort of thing, and the city would fall apart.

And Joshua hadn't seen any of it before it happened—should have, and hadn't, and he didn't know why.

He took a deep breath. Well. There was, at present, nothing he could do but watch and wait for the Game. He'd told Neku as much, though he'd understated the extent of it.

After double-checking that his former proxy was still asleep, he pushed his sleeves back now, eyed the twisting dark lines that wound around his arms. He'd yet to find a way around them; Sanae, under scrutiny himself, had been meticulously thorough in his work. They stretched up his arms and across his back and over his wings, and sealed his power completely. It was still _there,_ but he couldn't use it. This rendezvous with Neku didn't count; their pact was purely in their own minds, and the seals couldn't block what they couldn't detect. But he couldn't shake them off even here, and he couldn't do anything to affect the outside world.

Well. Even without the seals, what he'd told Neku was true: he couldn't have done much under the watch of the higher-ups, anyway. And while having a competent Conductor wasn't _quite_ as necessary as he'd insisted, it would certainly make the work easier and less risky, which meant that it was really just as well the city was being shifted out of reality until Neku had time to learn his half of the bargain. And the risk that Neku would snap and do something drastic before they could get to that point had now been significantly lessened. Right now, then, they could only wait, and see what else they were dealt, and trust in their own abilities to do more when an opportunity did present itself.

There was nothing to be gained by worrying, so Joshua wouldn't. And he'd had every bit as long a day as Neku had, so he might as well rest while he could.

Cautiously, he settled back next to Neku to watch the stars, and told himself sternly that he was only doing it because there was nothing better to do right now.

And that there was nothing at all comforting in the sound of the other boy's breath, quiet and steady, next to him.


	10. behind closed doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Life got complicated, as it does. Back on track now, though, and while I'm not yet sure of the schedule, regular updates should once again be a Thing.
> 
> Also, YEAH FINAL REMIX! Thank you, Nintendo! Don't forget to start tagging spoilers again, folks.

 

_In his dreams, Neku looked for the people he would have to say goodbye to, though in the haze of the dreamspace, he couldn't quite remember where he was going or why, only that he wouldn't be back._

_He found Shiki first, standing by Hachiko and staring into the crowd of passersby with a strange expression, holding Mr. Mew tightly to her chest with one hand and rubbing her throat absentmindedly with the other. He followed her gaze, and thought that he saw flashes of bright orange and pink in the corner of his eye as he turned his head. He tensed, but when he looked straight at them they were gone, and when he turned back to Shiki she was all brave smiles. "You've got that serious look on your face," she said. "You've made up your mind what to do about all this, haven't you?"_

_"Yeah," he said, and there was a certain peace in the word, even as it hurt._

_She nodded, and then asked, simply, "Will I see you again, afterwards?"_

_The frankness of the question, and the softness of the dream, made it easier to answer honestly. "I_ _… don't think so."_

_Another nod. "Do me a favor?"_

_"Anything."_

_She laughed a little at the haste with which he said it, and for an instant he saw an image of the sullen boy she'd met a month ago. "I'm not sure right now," she said, "if you're dreaming me, or I'm dreaming you, or if it makes any difference. But if you remember this later, when you see me for real, just_ _… promise you won't lie to me, all right? I mean, if there are things you really can't tell me, then don't. But promise me you won't lie just to make me feel better."_

_He swallowed. "I promise I'll tell you what I can."_

_"Good. Thank you." She gave him a light shove on his shoulder. "Go on, then. You've got places to be, right?"_

_"Shiki, there's so much I haven't had the chance to say—"_

_"I know," she said. "But say it in person, all right? We've still got six days."_

_And she was gone, and he took a step away, and found himself stepping into a long, dark hallway and shutting a door behind him._

_There were other doors, all closed, but as he brushed his fingers across them sounds and images flickered in his senses: snatches of music and conversation, flashes of sunlight and office desks and shop windows. He'd find a different person on the other side of each one, he realized, they were all_ here, _and the realization brought a moment of elation followed by despair, because when he looked up the hall stretched on, and on, and on, and he had no idea how to find only the people he was looking for._

_But he had to try, and so he ran, skimming his fingers over the surface of every door he passed in the hopes of catching something familiar._

_At last he found a door that made the bright colors of the Udagawa mural splash into his vision when he touched it, and he went through._

_He was met with the sight of his own body dead on the ground and haloed in blood, and wasn't really surprised to find that it didn't bother him beyond a sort of vague annoyance: Yeah, yeah. I_ know. _Been there, done that, got the T-shirt; can we change the subject now?_

_He wasn't really surprised, either, to see his mother sitting on the pavement, her knees drawn up to her chest, looking lost and childlike and tired as she looked down at the body. He sat down next to her, said nothing._

_"They said it was an accident." She didn't look at him._

_He leaned forward, rested his chin on his hands. "Yeah, I guess they would've."_

_"Was it?"_

_"No."_

_"I tried to tell them," she said, her voice faroff. "They said it was a stray bullet, but the shot was so clean. Dead center. They wouldn't listen to me. I don't know why they couldn't see it."_

_The spot on his forehead burned where Joshua had tapped it. He heard himself say, "It's sort of a long story."_

_Her laugh was silent, humorless, exhausted. "I've got time."_

_He passed a hand over his eyes. "Wish I could say the same."_

_"You're not back to stay," she said, very quietly. "Are you." It wasn't really a question._

_"It doesn't look that way. I'm_ _… sorry."_

 _She bit her lip and nodded, and was silent for a moment before saying, "Just tell me. Wherever you're going next, is it_ _…" Her voice shook, and steadied. "Is it all right?"_

 _He opened his mouth, and found the easy lie wouldn't come out, and his mother shook her head and murmured, "I've got to stop this. It isn't real. It isn't_ real _."_

_And he was back in the hall, the door shutting with a bang behind him. He turned to look at it and rocked back on his heels, nonplussed. Where the door had been was now a blank wall._

_He turned and kept going, door after door after door, but the images that flashed past were unfamiliar and unpromising and so he dashed by them, one after another, faster and faster—_

_A sea of black stone, littered with rubble, loomed for a moment in his vision as he ran, and he stopped and went back, though he couldn't have said what was familiar about the scene._

_"—Find no delight in needless cruelty." The words were quiet and earnest. "The upcoming alteration of the board will be_ _… difficult for you. We understand that. If you would but open your mind to us, we could save you much—"_

_The door opened a few inches—_

Static.

The world reeled and lurched around him as he hit the floor, and someone flashed him a grin that was half friendly, and half a cat baring its fangs. "Told you to knock it the hell—"

_—and then slammed shut with such force it barked Neku's knuckles, and another voice, full of cold anger, snapped: **Get out.**_

_And the dream—if it was a dream—ended, and Neku slept._

* * *

Neku woke, and with his eyes still closed he slowly registered that he was back in his bed, in his room.

It wasn't the scramble, so that was a point in its favor.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, picturing the night sky in its place.  He couldn't shake the sense that last night on the rooftop _should_ have felt like a strange, distant dream, a memory that would slip away in sunlight, the same way that memories of the Game's end had made Shiki crease her brow and speak in uncertain, halting questions. It hadn't been real, after all; he hadn't been there.

But it felt real; he could recall not just the dazzling sight of the stars but the feeling of cold rough concrete at his back, and the night air shifting softly against his face, and the strange soft pressure of Joshua's hand closing around his own. (And it occurred to him with a kind of resigned clarity that for all he'd pulled away from that gesture, he had reached out again without hesitation.)

 _I don't know if you're dreaming me, or I'm dreaming you, or if it makes any difference._ He frowned as the voice came back to him. Not Joshua who had said that—and then he remembered Shiki. And his mother by the mural, and…

He shifted uneasily. Those memories felt more like dreams than the rooftop did, but at moments there had been a clear, vivid sharpness to them. Like a radio coming into tune.

He remembered a door slamming shut.

Cautiously, he sent a thought in the direction of the pact link, or at least in the direction he thought it was; his sense of it was faint this morning. _Hey. Joshua. You there?_

A moment's pause, and then: _Oh, look._ Joshua's mental voice was cheerfully smug. _Sleeping Beauty's awake—_

 _Shut up,_ Neku sent back hurriedly, but not before Joshua could finish:

_—And it didn't even take a kiss. Sleep well?_

Neku refrained from rolling his eyes, with an effort. _You know, if you're going to tell_ me _to come back in ten years,_ you _could quit being a flirtatious asshole in the meantime._

 _We're both going to be dead well within a decade, Neku._ And words that should have been a dire omen were said only chidingly. _I've got to keep my spirits up somehow._

He shook his head, tried to ignore this. _Listen, Josh. Did something_ _… happen last night?_

A faint, knowing chuckle that made his ears heat. _'Something' is a very broad word. Specifics?_

 _It's just that I thought_ _… look, after I fell asleep, there was something… weird._

 _Things that happen after you fall asleep are generally_ _called dreams, Neku. They're frequently strange._

Neku shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep the exasperation off his face. _Yeah, okay, smartass. This felt more like I was scanning people. Only times a thousand. I didn't mean to, but_ _…_ He shied away from the most difficult question, trying to shove that strange expanse of broken stone to the back of his mind, in case Joshua was looking too closely at his thoughts. _Look, Joshua, I think my mom remembers what really happened last month._

 _Mm._ It was a neutral sound, noncommital. _And what makes you say that?_

 _Oh, I dunno,_ Neku snapped back, nettled by the lack of a stronger reaction. _Because last night I saw her at the mural, staring down at my dead body? Because the last couple days she's been freaking out at the thought of me going anywhere near there? You're the Composer. Aren't you supposed to know this stuff?_

_I've actually been just a little preoccupied the last few days, Neku._

_Josh, if she remembers, what the hell am I supposed to_ do?

Joshua's tone grew curious. _What do_ you _think you ought to—_

And there was a flicker of something like surprise, and then the pact link vanished from Neku's awareness.

 _Josh? **Josh.**_ Neku sat up, swallowing the automatic impulse to call out loud. There was no answer. He shut his eyes, searching for any trace of the connection, but it was utterly gone. _Damn it._ He kicked his blankets aside and pushed himself to his feet—not that he had anywhere to go, but he needed to move.

He had paced back and forth across his room twice when a fast-becoming-familiar shift in the air indicated that he had company. He stopped, tensing, and a quiet voice said, "Is something wrong?"

Neku rounded on the angel, fist raised, and bit out, "What do you want now?"

If the angel was offended by Neku's bluntness, he gave no indication, inclining his head politely. As he did so, his outline pulled into focus, losing the eye-watering not-quite-there effect and resolving itself into the form of a youngish man, unassuming and clean-cut, in a plain gray suit.

Neku glowered. _If you think that's going to make me trust you any more_ _…_

"Only to talk, Mr. Sakuraba," the angel said quietly. "I regret that my colleagues have gotten off to such a poor start with you. They… forget, many of them, what it is to see the world through a single set of eyes. They see the grand pattern so clearly that they lose sight of the details." He paused, sighed. "Please lower your hands, and release that psych energy you're gathering up. Your Composer's tried it and failed, and you aren't stronger than he is. Not yet."

 _Your Composer._ Rage simmered up in an instant, with a ferocity that left Neku reeling. Was that why Joshua had vanished so suddenly? _But Neku, I thought you couldn't afford to lose—_ No. He shook his head, forcing that moment back into its box, forcing himself to think. That hadn't been real, and this wasn't that, and Joshua was… they had a plan, which meant Joshua wasn't about to do something that would get him killed now.

_(No. No, he's saving the suicide mission for later, for both of us, because that's so much better.)_

Anyway, _not yet,_ the angel had just said, which meant there hadn't been some major shakeup of the universe; the upcoming Game was still on, and freaking _hell,_ he shouldn't be thinking about that like it was the good option.

Carefully, reluctantly, Neku folded his arms over his chest, and swallowed the question he wanted to ask, which was _what did you do to him?_ There was a plan, and part of that plan was that the angels had to believe that he and Joshua both were actually playing their assigned roles. (And where the hell did Joshua _attacking_ them fit into that?)

 _You aren't stronger than he is._ He ground his teeth, and looked away to stare out the window for a long moment, and finally managed to say sullenly, "Yeah, I know." Not really difficult, putting tired resentment into those words. "If you're here just to remind me of that, you could've waited until my parents left for work. It's going to get weird if they hear us talking."

The angel chuckled. The sound had something like Mr. H's aura in it, that laid-back, easy-to-talk-to air that would pull anyone towards it and encourage them to open up. It made Neku's hackles rise, and it occurred to him to wonder just how much psychic manipulation his onetime idol had been throwing at him, the first day they met.  "A fair concern. Our voices are blocked from their hearing at present, but I apologize for the early hour. I would have waited, but—well, my fellows have taken some convincing that more open communication with you is needed, and when the weight of opinion at last swung in favor of the idea I thought it best to act before it shifted back." He sighed, looking tired for a moment, and Neku remembered Joshua's comment about factions within the Higher Planes, that there were those who might be less convinced than the rest that this Game was a good idea. "They see your brilliance, Neku, your _potential_ —you aren't as strong as your Composer now, but you are the closest rival he has ever seen—and they forget that you are yet a child, a victim of his machinations and barely in control of a scant fraction of your power. They forget how much you cannot see."

Neku snorted, still avoiding the angel's gaze. "I thought you people could read minds," he bit out. "They can't _see_ how much I can't see?" He was curious—had been curious, since Joshua's disclosure regarding the defenses on his mind—if they would actually admit that they couldn't.

The hesitation that met this question was audible. At last the angel said, carefully, "You're not aware, then. I thought perhaps you weren't."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, so no. I guess not."

Another pause. "The truth is, Neku, you've been blocking us out since your return from the Game."

"I—what?" He didn't entirely have to fake the surprise. Joshua had claimed responsibility for his mental defenses— _of course he did_ —but their pact had only been remade two days ago. "I knew Kariya couldn't get in, but— _you?_ " The angel inclined his head with a slight, rueful smile, and Neku ran a hand through his hair, distractedly. "Oh. Good."

"Not as good as you think, though I sympathize with the desire," the angel told him quietly. "There are very few who can do what you've done, and intentional or not, it's been seen as an act of defiance—a dangerous one."

"Yeah. Right. Much as I'd love to be dangerous to you people, I seriously doubt—"

"Not dangerous to us." The angel paced across the room, leaned against the windowsill to stare pensively down at the street. After a moment he asked, "How's your mother been, since you came back?"

Neku went carefully still. He said nothing.

"Neku, I can understand your resistance to the concept of psychic… interference, particularly after the way the Composer—" a pause, a sigh— "Joshua—manipulated you during the Game. And if you were an island, caring for no one and affecting nothing…" The angel glanced back, a regretful smile crossing his face. "Or I should say, if you were _still_ such an island, perhaps you'd get away with walling yourself off from the universe. But you aren't, and you shouldn't be, and I don't think you'd want to be. Do you?"

Neku looked away and hunched his shoulders uncomfortably, reluctant to be drawn into agreement with the angel on anything, even something as inarguably true as this. "You know I don't. But there's a pretty thick line between walling myself off from the universe and letting _you_ in. Get to the point."

"The point is that you've come to care about people—which is good—and you are, I think, instinctively trying to protect them—which is noble." The angel shrugged. "Unfortunately, you have no idea what you're doing, and what _your_ subconscious sees as a threat is in fact more or less vital to their lives. I know you've observed your mother's behavior, the last few days." His gaze became knowing as his voice softened. "She dreams of a street where her son lies lifeless on the ground, and the image grows more vivid every night. So tell me, Neku, what are you protecting her from?"

Neku swallowed, at a loss for an answer to that. "So tell me how to stop messing with her head, and I will."

"We would. But you know how it works," the angel said gently. "How many times did Shiki say something similar to you? _I want to help, but you've got to let me in._ "

Neku stiffened, hands clenching involuntarily; however kindly the angel's tone, Shiki's name on his lips was a reminder and a threat. _Yes, we watch. We've noticed her. We noticed Beat, too. And you know how it works when you care about someone, in these games._

"The point is that we can't tell you how to undo what you've done," the angel persisted, "if we can't _see_ what you've done. It's not as straightforward as _Press X to cancel,_ unfortunately."

"If I were to cooperate with you," Neku bit out, "would it stop the Game? Would you give Beat back? Would it—"

A raised hand forestalled his questions. "I understand your urgency. But please understand these aren't questions with simple—"

"In other words," Neku interrupted, his voice flat, "no."

"In other words, a _yes_ would depend on a great deal more than your cooperation."

It was bait, of course it was bait, and as obvious about it as the day that Uzuki had said in her cheery sing-song, _I'll let you out of the Game if you just do_ one _little thing_ _…_

Neku still couldn't stop himself from giving the angel a quick, sharp look, even as he hated himself for it. But it was better to find out as much as he could about this newest angle of attack, wasn't it? Carefully, slowly, wondering if there was too much wariness in his voice or not enough, he asked, "Just how much more?"

The angel was silent for a moment as he left the window and took a seat by Neku's desk. "Let us say," he said at last, "that you aren't the only one in Shibuya who's taken to shutting us out entirely. And again, Neku, I'm afraid you fall victim to your Composer's games. If we could _see_ his state of mind… well, things might have gone differently, yes? The Fal—him you know as Hanekoma, he argued for decades for us to leave Joshua to his own devices, and for decades we listened. I'm sure you can see, in light of recent events, why many think that was a bad idea."

"Oh, you're waiting for _Joshua_ to cooperate. Great. Yeah. I'm sure that'll happen any second now. Or, you know, five minutes after the last living creature on Earth keels over dead from holding its breath. One or the other."

The angel cocked his head to one side, and Neku had the sudden sense that every inch of him, inside and out, was visible and being studied intently by something as vast and alien to him as a human scientist to a microbe. The force of it made him stagger and his hands shake, but he forced his shoulders square and held his ground, glaring, trying to still the tremors. "Whatever you're doing, knock it the hell off."

The angel blinked, and the horrible pressure evaporated as suddenly as it had begun. "You worry for him, even now."

Neku ducked his head uncomfortably and muttered, "You had to put me under a microscope to figure that out?"

"I apologize for that," the angel said calmly. "We wished to examine your mental defenses from a slightly different angle; I'll admit I'm surprised you could sense our scrutiny. The intent was not to cause you discomfort."

_Yeah. Right._

The angel leaned forward in his chair, resting elbows on knees and propping his chin on his hands. "Neku, for whatever it's worth, your worry is _understandable._ It was barely two weeks ago that you believed you saw him die, under fairly traumatic circumstances, at a time when your own survival depended on his. And then—well. He gave you back your life, and the lives of those you cared for, and you found yourself opened up to a new existence. Of _course_ you feel loyalty to him."

Breathe. _Breathe._ It hurt, hearing it laid out so bluntly, as if anything he thought or felt about Joshua was to be diagnosed and understood and fixed— _Hah. Wouldn't that be nice._ Never mind the arrogance of this angel, who _admitted_ he couldn't even read Neku's mind, trying to explain his own feelings to him when he wasn't even certain himself what he felt. As if _loyalty_ even began to capture the whole mess.

But there was a plan, even if there wasn't a good plan. _Appear to resign ourselves to the inevitable,_ Joshua had said. _They think we're both reasonable enough to get there._ Neku kept his voice carefully toneless, and managed, "Doesn't really matter what I feel, does it? He's still going to kill me in the end, if I don't…" His throat tightened, and for an instant he was back in the throne room trying to lift the gun, _trying_ to pull the trigger as his hands shook harder and _no. Breathe._ "If I don't get over it."

The angel's voice was quiet. "I don't want to see that happen."

He gave a tired, disbelieving laugh. "Yeah? Well, I'll try real hard not to disappoint you, but we don't always get what we want."

"No… well. As for what it would take to stop the Game—" The angel sighed. "I agree with you that securing the Composer's cooperation would be… exceedingly difficult, particularly as he knows he would be highly unlikely to keep his throne. Truthfully, it's unfortunate; he has a talented mind, and if his pride would only bend a little he might meet a kinder and less wasteful fate, but…" He spread his hands and shrugged. "He is what he is. And much as we cannot teach you to undo what you've done to your mother's mind if we cannot see what you've done, we would be unable to help you—or anyone else—repair the larger instabilities in Shibuya if we can't clearly see _his_ part in causing them. He's too closely intertwined with the city."

Neku narrowed his eyes, and nearly opened his mouth to say, _Joshua said_ I _caused them,_ and stopped himself. If he said it out loud, the angel's response would certainly be: _Yes, he did, didn't he?_

And Neku would trust Joshua over this angel or any other—would trust Joshua with his life, because he already _had,_ hadn't he? But this angel was still exuding that calm, beguilingly reasonable aura that was _really_ making Neku give his memories of Mr. H some serious sideeye, and the fact was that Neku didn't really want to give this angel the chance to have what would be, inarguably, a half-decent point. Which was: there was a difference between _trusting Joshua_ and _believing what Joshua said_ , and it was a big enough difference that a bus could have driven between the two.

"There are other problems that would have to be solved as well, but that's the thorniest one," the angel said quietly. "If anyone could get past his defenses, it's _possible_ that even the more unforgiving among us might be persuaded around to a less antagonistic approach. But as you noted, when he's decided to be uncooperative…" The angel paused for a moment, tilted his head to one side, stared at the ceiling as if searching for words. "He has," he said at last, "both a gift and a passion for it."

In spite of himself, Neku let out a snort. "Yeah, that's one way to put it."

The angel gave the slightest of rueful smiles, and Neku had to wonder just how much of Joshua Kiryu's personal brand of bullshit the Higher Planes had had to cope with in the two days the Composer had been under house arrest. "And without his cooperation, we cannot see the truth of him."

There was a faint, knowing emphasis on that word _we,_ and his gaze landed on Neku and flicked away again, and Neku almost choked. "If you think _I_ can, I think you missed what happened the last time I tried to read his mind. Like hell I'm chasing down that rabbit hole again."

Never mind that what had happened still felt, in some way, like it was on him. _Because I couldn't trust my partner. Because even with Shiki's life on the line, I couldn't._

And never mind that he'd been played straight into it. It still felt like he'd failed a test, how easily Joshua had pulled his strings that week.

"I know what he did," the angel said quietly. "And I make no assumptions about what you can or cannot do, where he is concerned. You only asked what it would take to have a chance at stopping the Game, and I answered. But I think perhaps you underestimate yourself, Neku." The angel's gaze was intent. "You aren't the same boy he decided to pick up and play with a month ago. At the very least, I doubt he could get into your head now the way he did then—I doubt he could get in at all, in fact. Not if you didn't want him to."

Neku stiffened. Disbelief bubbled up first, but then he paused, thinking about the previous night, and about Joshua's breezy dismissal— _I was only reading your face, not your mind. I assure you I'm not as interested as you think I am._

And of course, he thought resignedly, that _would_ be Joshua's answer to what he couldn't in fact do, wouldn't it? He wasn't about to take anything the angel said at face value, but it sure as hell wouldn't be a shock, anyway.

The angel went on, oblivious to Neku's momentary confusion—was he oblivious? Was that a knowing glint in his eyes? He didn't know about last night on the rooftop, or they wouldn't be having such a borderline-friendly conversation now, but maybe Neku's poker face really was that bad. "Of course, that's only speculation, but it's likely speculation. And I think, Neku, that in his way he's been just as rattled by you as you have by him."

Neku averted his gaze uncomfortably, and tried not to feel the sharp pang that went through his chest at those last words. _We're neither of us quite who we were a month ago._ The Higher Planes had watched Joshua for far longer than Neku had known him; was that so obvious, to them?

"As I said," the angel added, "no assumptions, but I also suspect that if anyone _could_ get through to him before the Game begins, it would be you."

"Get through to him. What's that mean? You think I'm going to—what, talk him around to your point of view?" Neku kept his voice level with effort. "Which I'm supposed to take your word for? Or try to bust into his head uninvited? Even if I _could—_ " His stomach twisted at the thought. All right, he'd scanned people during the Game, even imprinted memes to their thoughts when he'd had to, but he suspected this was something far more invasive the angel was suggesting—or rather, carefully not suggesting. "I wouldn't be any better than him, if I did that."

"I'm not asking you to do anything, Neku, other than consider what's at stake, consider your options, and consider them _carefully._ " The angel shook his head, and stood up with an air that said the conversation, for the time, was over. He bowed politely. "And recall that our time here isn't infinite."

And he was gone.

Neku slumped back against the wall and shut his eyes, trying not to shake as the adrenaline wore off.

Joshua's voice sounded at the back of his mind, quiet and uncharacteristically weary. _Careful, Neku. I think that one's actually halfway clever._

Relief washed through him. _Yeah, I kinda got that, thanks. Where the hell have you been?_

The fleeting impression of a smirk flashed across the link, but it didn't have quite its usual energy to it. _Why, partner, you almost sound like you were worried. I'm touched._

 _So glad to make you happy,_ Neku snapped back, thinking the sharpest glare he could. _He said you'd attacked him, and lost. I thought—_ no, he couldn't let his mind form the image of what, for a moment, he'd thought. It brought back other memories, older ones, of the day he'd waited by the mural for a friend who hadn't shown up—

Joshua's chuckle was entirely too pleased with itself as it cut through that encroaching darkness. _You_ were _worried. You must know he only said that to needle you, Neku. And don't get me wrong, it's terribly endearing that it worked—_

Neku could feel his face heat, and hoped it wasn't bright red. _Joshua, I'm in a pact with a guy who thought we should stop for coffee in the middle of fighting for our lives. If_ one _of us doesn't worry about your—your total inability to take shit seriously, we're both screwed._

 _Neku, if I_ weren't _taking things seriously, I'd be sitting back and enjoying your reaction, but—seriously._ Joshua's voice sobered and softened. _Don't let him get to you. You have enough to think about, and I'm old enough to look after myself. Give me a_ little _credit, partner._

Partner. Neku suppressed a tired sigh, and asked, flatly and without much hope, _So he lied? You didn't take a shot at him?_

The silence that followed had an edge to it, and was, in itself, a clear enough answer.

Neku drew a mental breath. _Goddamnit, Josh—_

_I had good reasons._

_Which were?_

_Not your concern at present, Mother dear,_ Joshua said calmly. _And I really suspect, Neku, that you're only fixating on this to avoid thinking about the things that_ are _your concern._

Neku pictured a rude gesture as clearly as he could, sent it in the direction of the pact link, opened his eyes, shoved away from the wall and went back to pacing the room.

Some fifteen laps later, he asked, _Am I really making Mom remember?_

A sigh, and a sense of measured consideration. _Probably. It's a peculiar situation, and I'm not in a position to investigate thoroughly at the moment, you understand, but you did it to your friends. It's a reasonable hypothesis._

 _Okay._ It wasn't, but what was there to say? _How do I stop?_

 _Same way you fix all the other problems currently facing us, Neku. You step away for long enough to learn more control, and you do it somewhere where you_ can't _inadvertently overcompensate and cause mass amnesia to strike the city while you're learning._

Neku winced. _That could happen?_

_Keep your responses off your face, Neku. Yes, it could happen._

_I don't think me looking horrified is going to set off anybody's Suspicious Behavior meter at the moment, Joshua._

_That's not the point. It's careless._

Another restless lap of the room, and he flopped over backwards onto his bed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. _Fine. So he wasn't actually telling us anything new, is what you're saying._

_That's what I'm saying, yes._

_So I just—what? Watch her sanity slide downhill for the next week and pretend I have no clue what it's about?_

_Would you rather tell her the truth?_ Joshua sounded genuinely curious.

Neku managed not to shudder. _Which part of the truth are we talking about, here? The part where you murdered me, the part where you murdered me_ again, _or the part where the whole freaking universe is apparently waiting on the edge of its seat to find out if the third time's the charm?_

 _Or the part where you trust me in spite of it all?_ Joshua shot back cheerfully.

Responses off his face. No eye-rolling. No eye-rolling. _You know, I didn't tell you that so you could be_ smug _about it._

 _You say that,_ Joshua mused, _and I could_ almost _get the feeling you haven't been paying attention._

Neku opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, started counting the lines between the thin strips of wood paneling, and decided after he'd gotten up to twenty-five to go for broke. Maybe— _maybe_ he'd be lucky, and bluntness would startle Joshua into an honest answer. _So. Is it true you can't actually read my mind?_

 _Hm. They certainly seem to think so, don't they?_ There was a long pause, during which Neku went on counting, and then Joshua gave another put-upon sigh. _It's not really a simple yes or no. The fact that we're in a pact means I'm not entirely_ outside _your head to begin with; I know where you are and what's going on around you, much like you did when you and any of your partners fought the Noise, and I've got a clearer view of your mental defenses from here than the angels do. You could say, if your mind were a house, that I'm in past the front door and looking at the pictures you've got on the walls._ Joshua's tone turned flippant. _But carrying on with that analogy would cast you as a particularly paranoid homeowner, who locks and bolts far more than just the_ outside _doors. If I_ were _trying to get at all your deepest, darkest secrets—_ a teasing wink— _well, don't get me wrong. I_ could. _But not without doing some serious structural damage, and none of us want that._

 _Oh._ There were things Neku _wanted_ to add to this: _Would you ever have admitted that, if that angel hadn't told me? Or would you have kept sitting back and laughing at_ the look on my face _every time I mentally freaked out wondering whether you'd heard something I hadn't meant to think? And my mom? Would you have told me what was wrong with_ her?

He was almost certain he knew the answers, and had doubts that he'd be able to keep his reactions to them confined to the inside of his head, and so he kept those questions to himself.

 _If you're worried about_ them _blasting their way in,_ Joshua added, _don't be. I told you I reinforced things, and I did. They have a lot more to get past than a few locked doors._

 _Oh,_ Neku thought back, sourly. _Fine. Should I be thanking you for painting that target on my back?_

 _Now you're just being petty,_ Joshua said disapprovingly. _You'd painted a target on your own back by locking the doors in the first place, Neku, whether you meant to or not. They were never going to trust you. And if you hadn't—regardless of what your new sweet-talking friend has to say on the subject—do you really think your situation would be_ better? _You were nearly hyperventilating last night, just wondering—_

_I was NOT—_

— _if_ I _could hear what you were thinking when I teased you. And that was just about the two of us. The fate of the world wasn't even hanging in the balance—well, not that particular balance. You'd be tearing yourself apart if they could see your thoughts, and you know it. Not to mention we wouldn't stand a chance against them._

Neku wondered, tiredly, if Joshua ever got sick of being obnoxiously right. _Yeah, I know._ A pause, and he thought about locked doors, and about a door slamming shut in his face. _Look,_ he ventured cautiously, _about last night—_

 _Oh, damn._ Joshua's tone turned irritable. _Sorry, Neku, we'll have to continue this conversation later. I've got company incoming._

Which wasn't, Neku thought, keeping his expression carefully neutral as the pact link slipped out of his reach once more, convenient timing at _all._

His stomach growled, and he grimaced and sat up, remembering the dinner he'd skipped last night. He'd lost track of his parents' movements in the apartment somewhere during his conversations, and couldn't recall hearing them leave, but there was no sound from outside his room, and—he glanced at the clock—yeah, they'd be out by now. Good. He really wasn't, in this moment, up to dealing with either of them any more than he had to.

(That admission brought some discomfort with it; he'd have to figure out how to face them before the week was over, it was one of those _things_ where he was probably supposed to feel horrible guilt for the rest of his life if he didn't—not that _rest of his life_ was saying much. And, all right, he'd… he'd feel guilty about his mother. His father… he examined that jumble of uncertain emotions, poking at it with a strange sense of detached curiosity. It was hollow and hazy and evaporated into nothing at all where he touched it, and he backed away quickly, turning his mind to other things.)

His phone chirped a note as he moved to his bedroom door, and he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. There was a message from Shiki.

_Hey. Sorry I never texted last night. You doing ok? Meet for lunch later?_

_Promise you won't lie to me, Neku._ If he'd really been in her mind, as he guessed he had, would she remember?

He tapped out a quick response— _yes & yes—_as he made his way to the kitchen, hit _Send,_ looked up from his phone, and stopped dead. His mother was sitting at the table, still eating her breakfast.

She glanced up at him with an uncertain smile. "Good morning. Are you feeling better?"

"I thought you had work today," was all he managed to say. She'd started back doing some kind of part-time desk work two years ago, while he was in eighth grade.

"I called in last night and told them you were sick, and I'd need to stay home. They didn't mind; I haven't taken a day off since I started."

He grimaced, hanging in the doorway. "You didn't have to do that. It was just something I ate. I'm fine."

"Neku, you weren't fine last night. I'm staying home today." She gave him a stern look. "And so are you."

A panic that had subsided last night on the rooftop—that hadn't returned this morning even with the angel turning up in his room—welled back up in his chest. No. He needed to get out, needed pavement under his feet, needed time and space to himself. "Mom, I—"

"No arguments. You're not going to die from staying home for a day, Neku." She pursed her lips. "Anyway, what if you are sick? You don't want to pass it on to anyone else, do you?"

"I'm not sick. I—" He let out a frustrated sigh. There was nothing he could say in protest that wasn't going to sound like so much teenage angst— _No, Mom, you don't understand. I_ am actually _going to die. I am going to die, and I've got to somehow make sure Beat's going to be all right, and figure out what to say to Shiki, and figure out_ _… Joshua._ (Yeah. Like that was going to be possible in six days.) _And go everywhere._ He couldn't put it fully into words, the feeling that he'd better gather up as much of the city as he could in his memory, in the time he had left, and hang onto it.

And even if he could have put it fully into words, he couldn't have said it _to her._ He wished for a fleeting, absurd moment that he could; maybe then she'd actually listen. Maybe it would help her, in a weird way, to know she _wasn't_ crazy, fixating on the death of that nameless, faceless boy.

But he couldn't, and arguing never went well with either of his parents; no better way to ensure they'd stop listening entirely. But maybe—maybe an appeal to his newfound social life would work. "Look, I promised Shiki that I'd meet her for lunch later. If I'm still feeling all right by then, can I go?"

She gave him a long look, and sighed. "Neku… I worry about you, you know. These friends—they came out of nowhere this summer, and suddenly you're acting like you can't live without them. I know you've had a difficult time, the last few years," she said cautiously. "And I'm so glad you're finally starting to connect with people again. I just… hope you aren't putting _too_ much importance on them, now. I know at your age every moment feels like it's—like it's life or death—"

" _Because it is._ " The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he almost opened his mouth again to take them back, but then he thought—no. No, it needed to be said. He couldn't tell the truth, maybe, but he could tell parts of it. "Or it might be. You've said it yourself, Mom. That kid who got shot in Udagawa? He _could_ have been me. He could have been anybody. One of my friends is missing right now, you know that? He—he took off and he hasn't come home." Silent apologies to Beat for the lie, as if his disappearance might in any way be his own fault, but if Neku made it sound like he'd been snatched off the street by shadowy figures then his mother would only double down on her determination to keep him at home. "And yeah, he's always arguing with his folks and he probably just wanted some space to cool off, and he'll probably turn up any minute. But we can't get him on his cell, and nobody's seen him. His kid sister's freaking the hell out, and _so am I._ "

His mother was staring at him now, and he let out a long, tired breath and looked away, running his fingers through his sleep-messed hair. It dawned on him that he'd just given her an almost-halfway-honest excuse for his breakdown last night. "So yeah," he said weakly. "Kind of… kind of feeling the life and death thing right now, Mom. Look, I wasn't sick last night. I just… I couldn't stop thinking about…"

"Neku, you should have told me," she said quietly, when he trailed off.

There was sympathy in her voice, but he found himself angry at the words. _Should have._ Maybe he would have, if he'd had any faith at all that she would listen. Or that her first reaction wouldn't be to tell him what he _should have_ done.

Maybe, he thought tiredly, he was just looking for any target at all that he could safely be angry at. She hadn't meant anything by it. He _knew_ that.

He swallowed, and though his voice had suddenly gotten hoarse he managed to say, honestly, "I really don't want to lose another one, Mom."

She nodded, and had the grace not to tell him things would be all right, for which he was deeply grateful. He ladled a bowl of miso soup from the pot on the stove, sat down at the table, and ate in silence.

It was only when he had pushed his empty bowl away from him that she spoke again, still quiet. "Neku, if what happened last night is an indication of how deeply your worry for your friend is affecting you… I know you don't want to hear this, but I still don't want you going out alone right now."

He slumped. "I feel like I'm going to explode if I sit inside too long."

"All right. We'll go somewhere, then, and then meet your Shiki for lunch."

Neku opened his mouth, and closed it, and opened it, and closed it again, an entirely new kind of panic setting in. "…We?"

"Neku, don't look so flustered. I just want to meet this girl my son's so fond of." She grinned suddenly, and the expression was unlike her, younger and full of humor. "It's not as if it's the end of the world, is it?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading!


	11. we're fine, everything's fine

"Look," Neku said to the empty air, "I assume you're listening, so listen up."

He'd retreated back to his room while his mother washed and dressed, and had just finished exchanging hasty texts with Shiki to let her know that they were having unexpected company at lunch. He'd let her know too—in horribly brief form, but there wasn't any better way to say it—that Beat was gone.

… _Shit,_  she'd sent back, and the fact that it was the first time he'd seen or heard Shiki swear about anything pretty much summed it up.  _How's Rhyme?_

_She's managing, but can you check in with her later this morning? Don't know if I'll be able to get away from Mom._

_Yeah. Hang in there, Neku._

The words were followed by a little heart icon, and he'd just stared at it for a while before nodding and sending back,  _Thanks. You too._

And now he had one other thing to do while his mother wasn't watching his every move.

He'd thought carefully, over breakfast, about what the angel had said—that if anyone could get past Joshua's mental defenses, it would be him. And no,  _hell_  no, he wasn't going there (though he remembered the dream of halls and doors, and the door that slammed in his face, and it once again left him uneasy and wondering) but they wanted him to, and if they thought he  _would,_ could he use that?

Quietly, steadily, he said, "You don't want me talking to the Underground, spreading news of this Game around. I get that. But I've been thinking about what you said this morning. About what it would take to  _stop_ the Game." He folded his arms, squared his shoulders. "I don't like it. You know that. But I'm… thinking about it. And if you want me to have any chance of pulling it off at all, I've got to be able to learn from  _somebody_ who actually knows what the hell they're doing with that stuff, and it's not going to be you. That pretty much leaves the Reapers. And I'd like to be able to talk to at least one or two of them  _without_ wondering who's going to disappear next."

He pushed himself off the edge of his bed, and headed back for the bedroom door. "All I have to say. Give it some thought and get back to me."

* * *

"So this Shiki," his mother said as they stepped out the door a half an hour later. "You've still hardly told me anything about her."

Neku shrugged uncomfortably. He still hated lying, but he'd texted a bit more with Shiki, and both had acknowledged that they had to tell her  _something,_ so they'd hashed out at least a vague outline. "The first week of school this spring," he began, "we had this project, and one of our teachers made us all pair up with somebody we didn't know…"

And he sketched it out as best he could, a rough, insufficient approximation of the real thing, that nonetheless kept something that at least vaguely resembled some of the important points: that they'd gotten stuck with each other; that Neku had been—well—terrible about it, determined to do things his own way or not at all; that Shiki had persisted despite his best efforts to drive her off, equally determined to work with him whether he liked it or not.

"And then, you know." He stared up at the sky for a moment as they walked.  _And then, you know_ could cover a lot. Attempted murder, sharks, kidnapping, more murder. "It was a big project, and somewhere along the way it sort of sank in. That she was right about… things. That I didn't have to go everything alone."

His mother nodded, and he tried not to look nervous as he braced himself for whatever questions would inevitably follow. He and Shiki had agreed that they'd just have to do the best they could. She'd want all kinds of details about the project, he expected; he'd barely talked to her about the spring term.

What he  _wasn't_ expecting her to ask next, but what she did in fact ask, was: "Is she pretty?"

"Mom _._ " His face heated, and he looked away. "Really?"

"I'm just asking, Neku."

"But—I—" He ran his fingers through his hair, and resisted the urge to tug on it in frustration.  _If you only knew, Mom._ But he wasn't about to lay out the story of Shiki's insecurities for his mother, even a heavily-redacted version of the story that involved no entry fees and no body-swapping and no quiet, uncertain question:  _Once you see the real me, will we still be friends?_ "I mean, yeah, kinda? But that's not the point. She's  _Shiki._  It doesn't matter what she looks like. She's—she's talented and brave and she cares about people.  _That's_ what's important."

He was deeply glad that Joshua, wherever he'd gone, wasn't yet back to offering running commentary at the back of his brain. He could just  _hear_ the laugh, see the sly wink:  _But we're dodging the real question here, Neku: is she prettier than_ me?

Which thought did nothing to make his face burn any less, and wherever the line was in his brain that divided what Joshua could hear from what Joshua couldn't, he hoped fervently that that thought had fallen on the right side of it.

"Good," his mother said quietly, and Neku realized belatedly what he probably should have realized right away, which was that this conversation was less a catastrophically failing attempt on his mother's part to be friendly and relatable than it was a cautious test. Which… bothered him less, when he looked at it that way, because it was at least in part about protecting Shiki, wasn't it? And he couldn't really protest that of course he would never hurt her when he  _had,_ and worse than his mother would ever know _._

One corner of his mother's mouth twitched up as she added, "Though if a girl—this one or any other—ever asks you if she's pretty, I hope for your sake you can come up with a more convincing  _yes_  than that one was, Neku."

He covered his eyes, so,  _so_ glad Joshua wasn't chiming in. " _Mom_."

She laughed, and he wondered if he had any clue who this woman walking next to him actually was, because she barely sounded familiar at all.

As they turned the corner at the end of their street, she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "So. Are you in love with her?"

…Yeah, okay, he took it back. He was still not  _remotely_ okay with this. "Mom, come on, are we really having this conversation?"

"I'm going to have lunch with the two of you, Neku," she said chidingly. "If I  _don't_ know, I'll be wondering the whole time what's going on with you two, and if I make the wrong assumption and say the wrong thing it'll be awkward and uncomfortable for everyone."

If she was actually worried, she could just  _not say embarrassing things,_ he thought, and eyed her narrowly. "Okay, I'm not sure if that was an excuse or a blackmail threat."

Her innocent shrug was very nearly Joshua-worthy. "Well?"

"Well." It didn't actually help that in the single blissful week he'd gotten where no one had been trying to kill him, he'd asked himself the same damn question at least fifty times, and… still didn't have an answer.  _No. Maybe. I think I'm supposed to be? And I mean, I'd take a bullet for her. I'd fight a freaking dragon for her, 'cause, you know, I did._

 _But it—it wasn't only for her._ It had started only for her—and maybe in the early days of that second week he would have given up, in the face of Taboo Noise and ever-stupider rules and  _Joshua,_ if he hadn't known her life was on the line right next to his. She was special to him, she always would be, and maybe it was just his total lack of practice at caring about people that left his mind blank when he tried to picture her in any kind of romantic light.  _(Look, a month ago I was taking it for granted I was going to die alone. Then I did, and then… I'd say give me time, but that's in short supply.)_

But he couldn't shake the suspicion that it was entirely the wrong question, for him and for Shiki both, and that it would be the wrong question even if he had all the time in the world to figure out an answer. Couldn't quite dodge the fact that it made him a little angry to hear it asked at all, for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. "She's important to me," he said at last. "And she's—look, you wouldn't be asking me this stuff if we were talking about Beat instead of Shiki."

She walked in silence for a moment, then gave him a curious look. "Should I be?"

He managed not to choke. "That's not what I—I just meant she's not any  _less_ important to me, if we're not… if it's not that kind of… if we're not, you know, proclaiming our love to each other and turning into some kind of starry-eyed shoujo manga characters. We've both got a lot to figure out right now, but I don't… I don't care about her any less." He rubbed his forehead wearily. "Does that make sense?"

She gave him an appraising look, and he thought there was something like approval and respect in it. And maybe a little bit of relief that this hadn't abruptly turned into a coming-out conversation.

 _Yeah, not to worry. I'm not… any readier to touch that subject than you are, I promise._ It was another thing he had scanned uncertainly in his own head more than once over the last week; between Joshua and certain of the Game shop workers and Joshua and  _possibly_ one or two reapers that he still wasn't entirely sure about and… Joshua, he'd sort of started to get used to the idea, over the last month, that there were guys in the world who might try to flirt with him. He wasn't any more sure of how he felt about that than he was of how he felt about Shiki, but he… well, when he examined the whole thing from a cautious mental distance he wasn't sure he  _wasn't_ interested. Which wasn't saying much, granted, but again—when he considered where he'd been a month ago...

There was no way in  _hell_ he was talking to his mother about any of that, and anyway, it didn't matter now, not when— _hey, Mom, actually, I have good news and bad news. The good news is we're_ never  _going to have to get around to that conversation._

"It does make sense," his mother said, then grinned. "And I'm glad. I can't see you turning into  _anything_  out of a shoujo manga."

He laughed in spite of himself. Another small blessing: she'd never see the pictures he was pretty sure Joshua had taken, the day the two of them had both decked themselves out in full Lapin Angelique because it was trending and they'd needed any edge they could get. Joshua had made it work, because of course he had; Neku… really wasn't cut out for gothic lolita.

There were upsides to the knowledge that the angels had taken Joshua's phone away from him.

* * *

It wasn't a completely terrible morning, Neku had to admit, once they'd gotten the commentary on his lack of a love life out of the way. His mother had thought they should Do Something Fun, but she accepted it peaceably when he told her that really, he just wanted to wander. She seemed, too, to understand his need for silence, and so he walked, and tried to take in everything—every flashing window sign, every noisy car engine, every splash of color on a passerby's clothes or hat or jewelry. Every uneven spot in the pavement under his feet.

He wondered if this was how Kitaniji had felt when Joshua had given him a month to save the city, as if maybe it would help if he hung onto every inch of it, pulled the whole thing into his soul.

Probably not. Kitaniji hadn't exactly come across like the sentimental type. Then again, Neku guessed he hadn't exactly met the Conductor under the best of circumstances.

A little before noon they made their way to a cafe near the scramble, and found Shiki outside waiting for them with a bright smile on her face. Introductions were made without incident, orders were placed, awkwardly amiable pleasantries were exchanged about the weather and the past weekend and how Shiki had liked her first term of high school, and then finally Neku's mother excused herself to the rest room for a moment and Neku and Shiki found each other at the table alone.

Shiki leaned in towards him, and her happy mask slipped away, leaving something somber and careful in its place. "Neku," she whispered, "I've got to talk to you alone, when we can. Not on the phone."

He eyed her with concern. "You okay?"

It was that stupid, pointless platitude of a question again, that couldn't possibly have yes for an honest answer under the circumstances. She nodded, but she avoided meeting his eyes. "I just… we need to talk. About—"

But the waiter appeared just then with their food, and then Neku's mother was back at the tableside, and Shiki perked up instantly, putting on a cheerful smile and chirpy tone. Neku watched cautiously, but there was no crack in the facade that he could see. In short order Shiki was peering at the sleeves of his mother's shirt and complimenting some detail of design stitched on the cuffs that Neku wouldn't have noticed if he'd stared at the thing for an hour, and his mother was beaming, obviously pleased and just as obviously  _deeply_ startled that anyone was paying attention. Shiki ducked her head and glanced sideways with a shy smile and twisted her fingers together, leaning back in her seat slightly as if she could distance herself from anything that might possibly sound like an admission that she was good at something. "I sew," she said. "A little. I mean, I have a lot to learn, but it's been a hobby for a long time."

His mother made noises of polite interest, and Neku barely refrained from rolling his eyes, because yes, okay, modesty, fine, but hell if Shiki had come back to life so that she could sit here and insist that she wasn't that good, really, to somebody who had no idea just how good she really  _was._ "Mom, don't let her fool you," he said. "She says  _a little._ She made everything she's wearing."

His mother blinked, and he could see her giving Shiki's clothes a surreptitious second look. Shiki blushed, her eyes widening, hands rising to wave away Neku's words. "No! Well—I mean—I did. But they—they could be a lot better."

Survive sadistic reapers, fight a dragon, come back from the dead, and panic over an honest compliment, Neku thought. But his mother was looking and sounding genuinely impressed now, leaning in for a closer look at Shiki's work and asking how long it had taken her and where the designs were from, and Shiki's face was still bright pink but she was clearly pleased by the reaction.

A pang stabbed through Neku at how normal and easy the whole scene felt. He could save Shibuya, maybe, but he wouldn't be able to save this moment for any of them, would he?

 _So enjoy it while it lasts._  But CAT's mantra left him with far more questions than it once had. Like:  _okay, but I happen to know the universe is swinging a giant_ wrecking ball  _at this moment and I'm pretty sure that the happier we let ourselves be right now, the worse it's going to hurt when that fucker hits, so what then, Mr. H, huh?_

Pulling back emotionally, putting a wall up between himself and the people he cared about and detaching from them, wasn't a better answer. But hell, in this moment he wanted to. Abruptly he wished that Joshua  _was_ listening in and offering obnoxious commentary on the scene; it would be… normalizing, in a weird way, or at least annoying enough to distract from the ache in his chest. He sent a cautious poke towards the bit of his mind where he thought the pact link was sitting:  _Hey. Josh. You there?_

No answer.

He had to get out of here at least for a minute or two, mentally if not physically, and so he tried to scan. Breathe, take down the walls, slip away—

Light and sound jolted into focus around him, more vivid than they'd ever been in the Game, and he barely stopped himself from sucking in an audible, startled breath as he snapped back to himself. That hadn't been happening yesterday, not even close. He tried again, more cautiously.

Shiki was a beacon of green fire outshining all else, in this vision, not a sallow sickly green but fresh—a park after a late spring rain, full of creativity and new growth, and so bright that he reeled at the knowledge that no one else in the room was seeing her for all she was. His mother, next to her, made for stark contrast: a muted blue grey, twisted in on herself and tied into knots. Around each of them, when he tried to hear it, there were faint echoes of music—Shiki's fiercely hopeful, his mother's cautious and uncertain, and he realized abruptly that this was what Joshua had let him in on last night, or something like it. Maybe the rush of music he'd heard on the rooftop had knocked loose some wall in his head that he hadn't even known was there. He stared around the room, taking everything in, though none of the customers or workers could match Shiki's brilliance.

And then there was something bright in a different way, from behind him, just outside the shop door—

He saw Shiki tense, just for an instant, but it distracted him enough that he lost his hold on this strange new way of seeing, and the normal world flooded back. He blinked, reorienting himself, and Shiki met his eyes, her expression worried, and opened her mouth—

"Well, hey, there, Neku!" a voice drawled from behind him, and he twisted in his seat and looked up, in front of Shiki and his mother, and found himself staring into the grinning face of Koki Kariya.

Neku swallowed, acutely aware of his companions' gazes upon him, of something frozen in the air around Shiki, of his mother's puzzlement as she looked between her son and this newcomer. "Hey," he managed flatly. "Hi. Kariya. The hell are you doing here?"

He ignored his mother's quietly scandalized mutter of " _Neku._ " If this was the higher-ups' way of answering the request he'd made a few hours earlier, then he was going to find whichever faction of their goddamn hive mind had thought this would be funny, and then he was going to get Joshua to help him drop an asteroid on it.

"There a law against getting lunch?" Without invitation Kariya pulled a chair out from a nearby table and spun it around so he could sit backwards on it, leaning his elbows on its back. His grin widened at Neku's scowl, and he shrugged laconically. "They've got good ramen here. Not as good as Doi's, but I was in the neighborhood. But hey, since I've run into you—course I wouldn't dream of interrupting your cozy sitdown here for long, but our last conversation got cut shor—"

"We're eating," Neku said flatly, deliberately turning his back on the Reaper even as a primal part of his brain screamed that it was a deeply unwise thing to do. "It can wait."

His mother sighed. "Neku," she said levelly, "you're being rude. Introduce us, please."

Before Neku could muster any response to this, Kariya beamed at her and extended a hand over the back of the chair to shake. "Koki Kariya, ma'am—Mrs. Sakuraba, if I'm not wrong? And Miss Misaki I already know." He inclined his head towards Shiki and gave her a congenial wink.

Neku stiffened as this sank in. Shiki had been wearing Eri's face in the Game. Kariya had never  _seen_ her as herself, not in the Game. But he recognized her now, which meant—

"Yeah," Shiki said, only a little stiffly. "Hi. Nice to see you again." Her face was pale, but she was composed, and—she wasn't surprised, Neku realised.  _Angry,_  but not surprised, and not any more frightened than he was.

"I work over at a music shop over Udagawa way," Kariya lied in easy tones to Neku's mother. "Neku here's in there so much the boss has been trying to talk him around to a job, but—"

Neku rallied. "But I've got school to focus on," he said flatly, before his mother could make the same protest. "Besides, would  _you_ want me talking to customers? I'd be terrible at it." Though, hell, in this insane fictional timeline where they'd hired  _Kariya_ — _Hey, you wanna throw some explosives in with that purchase? Need anybody killed?_  He swallowed a slightly deranged laugh at the image.

Kariya chuckled. "Hey, it's no skin off my back. You don't want what's offered, I'm sure someone else will." His eyes glinted as he gave Neku a pointed look. "It's not life or death or anything. Right, kid?"

Neku managed not to roll his eyes.  _Yeah, subtle, Kariya. Real fucking subtle._ "Right. Look, you find somebody who  _wants_ the job, they've got my blessings. Meanwhile—"

"Speaking of finding people," Kariya interrupted. "Heard about your friend Skulls. Sorry about that. You must be worried as hell."

Neku went very still, and stared down at his hands, and carefully  _didn't_ lunge in Kariya's direction and snarl  _What do you know about it?_ Not in front of his mother, not in front of so many people.

It took some effort, and he couldn't immediately find words, or even breath, to make a more publically-appropriate response. Kariya knew the higher-ups had taken Beat. He  _knew,_ and that meant that yeah, they'd told him. This was their response, their way of saying  _You ask something from us? Remember who's in control here, Mr. Sakuraba._

Across from Neku, Shiki shifted uncomfortably, biting her lip and staring down at her bowl.

His mother cleared her throat. "Mr… Kariya," she said, quietly and levelly, "I don't think my son wants to talk to you."

Kariya's eyes gleamed in an all-too-familiar way, and it hit Neku like a lead weight that his mother—his  _mother—_ was about to try to stand up to the guy who'd cheered when the shark got Rhyme, who'd walled Beat in at the site of his own death and laughed about it. The realization jolted him out of his momentary paralysis, and he managed, "It's fine, Mom. I just… he caught me by surprise. Look, Kariya—I'll see you some other time, yeah? This isn't the best time to talk."

"Sure, sure." Kariya pushed his chair away from him as he stood up. "Don't want to interrupt your little outing any longer. Do give me that call, though. Or stop in at the shop—heard some new tunes recently I think you'd be interested in." He grinned. "Group called  _Higher Orders._ Heard of 'em?"

Neku dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand. "Yeah. Yeah, once or twice."

"Well, they're in town at the moment," Kariya said. "Would you know, I actually met one of their singers the other day? Came right into the shop. Hung around to chat and everything."

"No kidding?" Neku managed, only a little weakly. Asteroids. Plural.

"Yeah. Well, I'll tell you all about it when we talk, Phones—catch you later." He spun on his heel, starting away, then paused, snapping his fingers as if he'd just remembered something, and turned back. "Y'know, I'll bet you that pretty friend of yours could get us all tickets to their show. Ah—" He tipped his hand in a dry salute to Neku's companions. "Apologies to present company, but your  _other_ pretty friend. Whatsisname. You know the one—the little prince with the outsized attitude."

His cheery gaze met Neku's frozen one, and he gave Neku a knowing wink and did not say:  _The one you told me, just yesterday, was dead and erased_. "I know, I know," he added, voice softening into something cajoling and not at all gentle. "Heard you two aren't on speaking terms at present, but c'mon, Phones. We all know His Highness knows how to open doors. And we all know that if anyone can get  _anything_ out of that kid, it's you. So—"

"Mr. Kariya," Neku's mother interrupted very calmly, looking between the Reaper and Neku, "Before you say  _anything_ further to my son, I'd like a word with you, please. Alone."

It took all that Neku had not to lunge out of his seat and yell  _no_ at the top of his lungs. "Mom," he began, "don't. He's—"

"Neku," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, as she pushed her chair away from the table and stood up, "hush. I'll be right back."

"Mom, he's just messing around, you don't have to—"

" _Neku._ " Her expression was warning now; she nodded to Kariya and strode for the shop door. Kariya trailed after her, pausing only to glance back and give a lazy, helpless shrug, hands up as if to say,  _Don't look at me,_ I  _didn't do anything._

Neku only refrained from flipping him off because the way things were going, his mother would probably look back and catch him doing it.

Shiki let out a long, shaky breath as the door swung shut behind the two. "Are we actually going to just sit here while your mother…  _scolds_ a Reaper?  _That_ Reaper?"

Neku snorted softly. "I mean,  _I'm_ not helping him."

This startled a laugh out of Shiki, but she sobered quickly. "Neku—"

"And if he hurts her," Neku said very quietly, his gaze still fixed on the door, "I'll kill him."

After a moment, Shiki said, just as quietly, "You should have told me it was those two that you and Beat went to for help."

He stiffened, jerking his gaze away from the scene outside the door to meet Shiki's eyes. "You knew?"

She bit her lip, and her gaze slid sideways, away from his. "A little while after you left yesterday, I ran into him on the street. He… wanted to talk."

Neku stared at her, feeling cold creep through him. It had been bad enough seeking Kariya and Uzuki out, even knowing that by the end of his Game, he and Beat had been more than a match for them. Shiki had never gotten that far, she'd been nothing more to them than  _prey,_  and she'd walked straight into one of them without any warning. "Shit," he breathed. " _Shit._ Shiki, I'm sorry." He almost said  _you should have told me,_ and stopped himself. She was telling him now, and he hadn't told  _her_ who he'd been working with. "Are you all right? Did he give you a hard time?"

"You don't have to protect me, Neku. I'm all right. I probably should have called you about it, but you had enough to worry about, and it was a… lot to take in." She ran a hand through her hair distractedly, still not looking at him. "He… well, he said if I'd help talk you around to this Game— _get you over your hangups,_ he said—he'd use imprinting to make sure Eri got out of the city before it started. I think he'd overheard at least some of our conversation."

Neku swallowed, trying to ignore the wave of nausea that swept over him. Of course Kariya had overheard their conversation. Kariya could hop up to the Underground any time he liked, and if he was more than a few feet away then Neku wasn't good enough to sense him.

No wonder Kariya had brought up Joshua, just now. Shit, shit,  _shit._ If he'd overheard Neku and Shiki's conversation then he knew exactly what Joshua was, and exactly what he'd done, and exactly how badly Neku's head had been messed up by it.

And why Neku was dragging his feet over what it would take to save Shibuya.

There weren't enough swear words in the language. Neku shut his eyes and leaned forward and rested his forehead, very lightly, on the table in front of him.

"Neku?" Shiki's voice was full of concern. If there was any blame there for the fact that he'd let her walk headfirst into a PTSD attack with no warning, it wasn't audible.

"Yeah," he muttered, not moving. "I'm okay. Just… give me a minute, okay?"

The table's surface was cool against his skin. Breathe. Focus on the moment. Trying a scan didn't make the world burst into new color like it had a few minutes ago, but he could sense Kariya's energy outside the door, sharp and sardonic and not, as far as he could tell, about to explode. (He couldn't blow things up in the Realground, right?) Across the table, Shiki was a spark of light, flickering bright and dim in a tense, uneven staccato.

 _Don't lie to me just to make me feel better, Neku._ He'd put her through too much already, and he kept adding to it, whether he meant to or not.

He sighed and sat up. "For whatever it's worth," he said, "he probably really would get Eri out of Tokyo. He's not a good guy, but he plays fair. Kind of."

Shiki said nothing, and Neku added quietly, "I haven't forgotten what they did, Shiki. And I haven't forgotten what  _I_ did. It's just…" He shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "Sorry I didn't tell you. I was afraid of hurting you more. But I guess I didn't really manage to avoid that, did I?"

"Not really, no," Shiki said, but her tone was more tired and rueful than angry. She was silent a long moment, then said, "And for the record? I told him to take a hike, about Eri. I'm not trying to manipulate you into anything. You already know what's at stake, Neku. If you're wondering, even with that, what the right thing is to do—"

"I'm not," Neku said, just as tiredly.  _Look resigned to our parts._ He couldn't tell her what he and Joshua actually intended, but he couldn't—couldn't leave her wondering if he would let her and everyone else die. "I hate it, but I'll do it. I just… needed some time to get my head around it."

Wordlessly, Shiki held a hand out across the table. He reached out and took it, and they laced their fingers together and held on tightly.

After a moment, Shiki ventured, "You still haven't told me what they're actually—"

Neku disentangled his hand from hers, and held it up in warning. Outside the window, Kariya turned to leave; Neku's mother started back for the cafe door, her mouth set in a thin line. Neku's stomach sank; her expression was all too familiar.

He didn't exactly mind the interruption, though. He wasn't ready to answer the question Shiki had been about to ask, wasn't ready to talk to her—to anyone, but to her less than most—about having to kill someone. Even if it was just an act, even knowing there was another plan. Wasn't ready to talk to her about the fact that the someone was  _Joshua,_ not when she'd practically been ready to clobber him for defending the Composer yesterday.

Not that he could blame her for that.

His mother gave a bright smile as she sat back down. "Well," she said. "That Kariya's an interesting fellow, isn't he?"

"He's a creep, Mom," Neku said bluntly. "We all stay away from him. I promise."

"Hm. Strong words, Neku." She propped her chin on her hand and eyed him curiously. "A creep in what sense?"

He hesitated. There was plenty bad he could have said about Koki Kariya without mentioning the Underground at all, but most of it would have made the guy sound like he was probably a serial killer, and he didn't want to fuel his mother's paranoia any more than he had to. "It's nothing concrete," he muttered vaguely. "He just… he likes getting under people's skin, starting stuff. Beat, uh… worked at the same shop for a while—" he was going to have to make notes about how he'd told his mother they all knew each other— "and Kariya was always messing with him. He'd give him a hard time about some… stuff with his family, make it out like it was all Beat's fault. And then he shows up here, acting like he gives a…" He caught his mother's warning look, and amended this to, "Like he cares he's missing. Look, Mom, I don't know what he said to you, but he's not a good guy."

She nodded, her expression attentive, but there was something  _off_  there, a slight haziness that sent a wary jolt down Neku's spine. He'd seen that look before. "I think you're exaggerating a bit, Neku," she said. "He was very pleasant and reasonable when I spoke to him."

Neku exchanged a look with Shiki, who looked as disturbed by this as he felt. "Mom, he may have  _seemed_ reasonable," he began cautiously, but his mother interrupted him.

"Particularly given how rude to him you were. Honestly, I know you're worried for your friend, but that's no excuse for the glare you were giving him. He had every right to be here, and it was very nice of him to stop and say hello."

Neku drew a deep breath. Fine. Screw the non-paranoia-fueling version; he had a horrible suspicion she wasn't going to hear anything he said on this subject, and he had to know. "Okay," he said. "Then there's the day he stalked me and a friend halfway across the city to harass us. Which wasn't the only time he's done it. If you think it's coincidence that he was here today, you're kidding yourself."

His mother took a long sip of her drink. "I'm sure you're imagining things," she said calmly. "People run into each other all the time, and saying hello to someone you know isn't harassment, Neku. It's good manners."

Yeah. Yeah, he'd seen that expression before. Shiki had too; she indicated his mother with a slight sideways tilt of her head, and silently mouthed,  _Imprinting?_ He gave her a very small nod. He was going to punch Kariya in the face, first opportunity he got.

"In any event," his mother said distantly, in the tones of one who didn't quite realize that the things she was saying weren't her idea, "we can discuss it later, Neku."

And she turned back to Shiki, as if nothing had happened. "So tell me about this sewing project with your friend?"

* * *

"She's nice," his mother said as they walked away from the cafe. "I like her." The faint air of surprise and bafflement in her tone suggested that she couldn't quite understand how her son had wound up with a friend who was  _nice._

Neku wanted to be offended by that, but he… couldn't be, really.

"You're sure you two aren't dating?" she added a little hopefully, as if they might be and Neku might have just missed it. As if she hadn't just this morning been telling him that she worried he was too attached to his friends.

"We're not dating," Neku said wearily. "It's not like that, Mom. Really."

"She seems to like you, though."

He shrugged. "Pretty sure we wouldn't be friends if she hated my guts."

She laughed, softly, and asked, "So who's Joshua?"

Neku almost tripped over the sidewalk.

She glanced at him sidelong, appraising his reaction. "That Kariya fellow said I should ask you about him."

Neku stared fixedly at a point in the air in front of him. "Did he."

"He said the two of you were… well, he said I should ask you. But he was worried about you. Neku, you…" She hesitated. "You… know you can tell me things."

Neku's skin crawled. "There's nothing to tell," he said shortly.

"Who is he?"

 _None of your business, is who he is,_  Neku wanted to snap, but that way lay getting grounded, probably, and who knew what else. "He's a snobby rich jackass. From school." Because why the hell not, he'd lied everybody else into his life today. "I hung out with him once or twice because I thought he might be decent under the attitude, but he's not. End of story."

"You thought he might be decent, but he's not," she echoed. "What made you decide that?"

He rubbed his temple, exasperated and fighting off a headache. "Mom, it was a while ago. I don't have detailed notes to give you. He just… thinks he's better than everybody."  _Also, you know, murder._

(And yet lying on the concrete rooftop last night under the dizzying dome of stars, with Joshua sitting next to him in silence… he would have stayed in that moment for years, if he could.)

"Neku…" Her expression was troubled, her voice very quiet now. "Did he ever hurt you?"

 _The boy tore around the corner with a gun in his hand and_ no. He wasn't going there. Neku stopped in his tracks, bile rising in his throat, rage flooding through him so suddenly and fiercely it made his hands tremble. This was how it was going to be? Less than a week left and they couldn't even let him have  _that_ without—without  _this?_ Taunting, needling, reminding. He wasn't doing this. For fuck's sake _,_ he'd  _told_ Shiki he was going to play the Game, and it wasn't like the angels hadn't been listening to that conversation, because they were listening to everything. What the hell more did they want from him? They'd won this round. They didn't need to keep looking for new angles to get at him from, to talk him around.

His feet moved of their own accord, and he was only fully aware that he'd turned around and started back the other direction after he'd already gone several paces.

"Neku?  _Neku._ " Startled first, then irate, and then she was running after him, her smooth-soled shoes—really not made for running, those—slapping against the sidewalk.

He lengthened his stride and quickened his pace and wished he had his headphones to pull up over his ears. He wasn't up for this. He just wasn't.

She caught up to him, out of breath—it occurred to Neku that she probably hadn't done as much walking in quite a while as she'd done today—and reached out and caught his sleeve.

Reflexes born out of three weeks of life-or-death-or-deader-death combat kicked in. He snapped his arm out of her grasp and spun, one arm raising to ward against a blow, the other clenching into a fist that would have called down fire against the Noise, his legs shifting into a balanced stance that would let him maneuver—

"Neku, what is  _wrong with you?_ "

He met her frightened, bewildered, angry stare, and opened and closed his mouth soundlessly a couple of times, and then turned and broke into a run, ignoring the shouts behind him.

Eventually he reached into his pocket, pulled out his cellphone, and turned the ringer off, ignoring the number of missed calls that flashed at him from the screen. And then he put the phone back in his pocket, and kept running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be sporadic for a little while longer owing to other writing obligations. Apologies, and thank you to all who've continued to read. :) Comments are always welcome!


	12. moments of half truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have recovered from end-of-semester shenanigans at last (I work full-time at a college, and was also taking a very writing-intensive class there this semester, so… it was a busy time) and have finally wrestled this thing into some kind of shape. It would have been up a week ago, but I found after I had it mostly done that my brain really needed a break from stepping into the angels' headspace and their particular brand of gaslighting and BS, so I had to take a step back for a couple days and then come back to it. But here it is now.

Neku ran for a long time, with little attention to where he was going, except to steer deliberately away from Udagawa whenever his feet tried to fall into their habit of taking him there. Apart from that he lost himself in it, until his lungs burned and his legs were starting to wobble—and then he kept going anyway for a while longer, physical pain a welcome distraction from the mess in his head.

He stopped eventually on a back street near Shibuya station, slumped down on a bench, breathed, and forced himself to take stock.

Hell knew what his mother thought at this point, other than presumably that her son had gone crazy, and that this boy Joshua—about whom she knew nothing, beyond his name and _did he hurt you, Neku?_ —was to blame. Neku let out a soundless laugh, his head falling forward to rest in his hands. It was nothing like she'd think, and it was _exactly_ like she'd think only so much worse, and he was really starting to hate the angels even more than he already had for giving him a week to think about this shit.

It would be easier when the Game started, and he hated himself for thinking _that,_ even for a moment. But it wouldn't matter at that point what he wanted or didn't want, who he cared about or didn't. If he got hurt or didn't. Everything would just be what it was, him and Joshua against the angels, with a city to save.

_Yeah. Easy._

He pulled out his phone, flipped it open. Twelve missed calls and three texts from his mother. He couldn't bring himself to focus on the words—beyond a hasty impression of mingled worry and reproach—but he thought of Rhyme chasing after Beat, and sighed and tapped out a short note. _Sorry for taking off. I'm okay, I just really need some space. I'll be back later._

He hit send, and stuffed the phone back in his pocket, the ringer still off, and then said aloud, "For the record, when I said 'contact with the Underground?' That shit with Kariya _wasn't_ what I had in mind."

Without fanfare, the angel he'd spoken to that morning was on the bench next to him, sitting comfortably as if he'd been there all day. Neku had been more or less expecting him, and managed not to flinch, but he scowled and pointedly edged away.

"It was thought," the angel said mildly, "that you should be reminded of the potential dangers of such contact."

" _It was thought,"_ Neku said flatly. "Nice dodging, there. No responsibility, no blame, right?"

Was that the faint ghost of a smile, turning up at the edge of the angel's mouth? "There's no blame to assign. It was simply thought. We aren't separable—from each other or from the world—in the way you understand it."

Neku looked away, folding his arms uncomfortably over his chest. "Mr. H still managed to put one over on you."

A sigh. "Not for long, he didn't." There was something quiet in the angel's voice that was maybe supposed to sound like sorrow, although Neku would have eaten porcupine Noise before he (a) believed it or (b) gave a damn. The angel's tone smoothed out quickly. "But we're not here to discuss our fallen. Your point regarding contact _was_ acknowledged, Neku; you may have found it uncomfortable, but this was a win for you. You could learn much from Kariya. We know you're aware of this, since you yourself sought him out as a teacher. He knows of the upcoming Game—which was not our desire, but we may as well make use of it—and has a vested interest in your victory. And he likes us no more than you do." And this time the smile was unmistakeable. "A match made in heaven. As it were."

Neku snorted. "You know bad jokes aren't going to make me hate you _less,_ right?" He slumped back on the bench. "So you'll let me work with Kariya. Fine. Great. That's really generous of you. You going to undo what he did to my mother?"

"You'll have to talk to him about that," the angel said smoothly. "We don't interfere any more than we must."

"Yeah, that's rich. That's real rich, after what you did to Beat. Or are you going to blame that on Kariya too, now? You took him to stop me from talking to the Reapers, right?" Neku persisted. "Now that's solved, so—you don't like interfering? Great. Give him back, and maybe I'll actually believe it."

The delicate hesitation that followed was answer enough. Neku shook his head and made a disgusted noise, deep in his throat.

The angel showed no sign of offense. "The matter of the Bito boy is unfortunately complicated."

"So _uncomplicate it._ "

"Neku, if I could safely return him to you, I would gladly do so, but there are… concerns. Everything is unstable at present, but I fear he's more so than most. He has a great deal of raw potential, much like you, but he lacks your instinctual ability to focus your power."

Neku opened his mouth to tell the angel exactly how much he didn't care, then paused, and thought, and then gave the angel a hard look. "What happened?"

The angel tilted his head to one side, watched him calmly, and said nothing.

"Something happened," Neku reiterated more slowly, thinking this through. "Something happened, that he didn't mean to happen, and it left you people with _concerns_. _What happened?_ "

A long pause. "Let us suppose, Neku, that you are correct, and that some terrible thing did happen." The angel leaned in slightly. "Let us also suppose that it was terrible _enough_ that it was deemed to necessitate his immediate removal from the board, as a precautionary measure until the situation could be stabilized. If this were true, it would not—to be blunt—be the business of a living boy in the Realground, however gifted. It would be the business of the Composer."

The phrasing— _removal from the board—_ pinged off of something in Neku's memory, but he didn't have time to think about what it was, and brushed it irritably aside. "You've got the Composer locked up."

"And so the matter will have to wait," the angel said patiently. "As I said, Neku, it isn't presently your—"

"Like hell it's not my business. Beat's my friend. Anyway—" He threw his hands up. "This is stupid _._ Either I'm _going_ to be Composer, or you're going to wipe Shibuya and none of this is going to matter. Heck of a time to start worrying about whether or not I've got security clearance."

The angel gave him a long, silent, appraising look, and then asked curiously, "And what good do you believe this information would do you? You're in no position to change anything at present."

"Is there even any point in answering that? Or are you just going to take anything I say and use it to keep yanking me around?"

The angel said nothing, only tilted his head to one side and went on regarding him impassively.

Neku shook his head irritably and looked away. _Pretend you're going to cooperate. Pretend you're going to cooperate._ "Look, I'm just… trying to understand, all right? You're doing all this because reality's unstable. Because that's dangerous, because it's _so_ dangerous you'd rather wipe everyone in town out than see it stay that way. I got that, but I don't understand what it _means._ You want me to take your side, to believe that you're working for some kind of greater good, but you…" He let out a long breath. "You're asking me to take a hell of a lot on faith, here, and maybe there are some people out there who could do that, but I've been jerked around so much in the last month by _everybody—_ Joshua, Shades, all the Reapers—" He paused, rubbed the side of his head, and added ruefully, "Joshua. Did I mention him?"

The angel smiled, and said gently, "And yet you resist the idea of turning against him."

"Yeah, well." Neku stared at the sky. "I'll do it. I've told you I'll do it. But look, at the moment I'm kind of allergic to people who don't tell me shit. You want me to believe you're any better than he is, you could start by actually, you know, _being better._ "

Again the silent regard. For an instant there was a flicker of the same microscope gaze Neku had felt talking while talking to the angel earlier in the morning, as if everything in his mind and soul was laid out on display. But it lasted less than a heartbeat, and then flickered back out. Neku drew a deep breath, trying not to shudder. _He can't read your mind,_ he reminded himself. _He can't. It's just intimidation tactics._

The angel said, "All right."

Neku blinked, momentarily derailed. "All right?"

There was a shift in the air around the angel, something about him becoming more solid in an indefinable way, more real. He turned slightly towards Neku on the bench, and leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees. "Yesterday," he said quietly, "by unfortunate accident, your friend Beat encountered a face familiar to him: the man who was behind the wheel of the car which—in a timeline that no longer exists—killed him and his younger sibling."

Neku's breath left him in a shaky rush. _Shit_.

That was as bad as Shiki coming face to face with Kariya. And where Shiki, faced with a nasty surprise, would stop and think about what to do, Beat would just _react._

_He has a great deal of raw potential. Much like you._

Afraid now to hear the answer, Neku asked, levelly, "What happened?"

"Shortly after their meeting," the angel said, "the man attempted suicide."

Suicide. The word landed with a dull thud, and for a moment Neku didn't understand. It was terrible, but suicide was… _suicide,_ not the fault of—

But Beat was a little bit like Neku himself, wasn't he? Able to change things a little bit more than he should have been. And unable to focus it.

"The man lives," the angel added quietly. "With the aid of life support. But his mind is badly damaged from the psychic assault that your friend Beat—entirely unintentionally—committed against him. Whether he will find his way back to the waking world is yet unknown."

Neku shut his eyes, feeling sick.

"You want your friend back, Neku. We know. But we do not merely _think_ he is dangerous on some idle whim. _He is dangerous._ That he did not mean to cause harm does not change the facts: something happened to cause him pain, he reacted to it instinctively, and the consequences were, at minimum, very nearly lethal—not to mention that the existence of an alternate timeline was forcibly broadcast into the mind of one with no business seeing it." The angel's voice was soft, consoling. "Under the circumstances, we deemed it _least_ invasive to remove him from the board until the larger instability could be brought under control. At that time, his situation may be reassessed."

Neku drew in a shaky breath. "Oh."

The angel said nothing.

Neku swallowed. "Could that have happened, if not for the… the instability?"

"It would have been far less likely, certainly," the angel said.

"And you let me think," Neku said slowly, "that you taking Beat was my fault, for—"

"At the risk of sounding trite," the angel said, still gentle, "the expression _two birds, one stone_ might be applicable here. Your actions have consequences as well, Neku—not only for yourself, and I don't speak only of your choices in the upcoming Game. You barely begin to understand or respect the scale of those consequences, and it… was judged—" He put a faint, knowing emphasis on the passivity of that verb— "that a threat to a friend might aid that understanding along." He gave a barely noticeable shrug. "We're aware you hate us, at present. That's acceptable."

Out of words, Neku shook his head, pushed to his feet, dug his hands into his pockets, and started walking. The angel followed. Neku shot him his best _get the hell away from me_ glare.

To his credit, the angel fell back, and when Neku next looked back over his shoulder, he was gone.

* * *

Neku made his way up through the labyrinth of stairs and ledges to the rooftop where he and Beat had sought out Kariya—had it really only been yesterday? At the moment, it felt like it had been years—and folded his arms over his chest, and squared his shoulders.

"I'm here," he said flatly. "Let's— _talk._ "

The spark of red and orange that had followed him up here solidified, and Kariya was leaning against the low wall at the edge of the roof. He raised a hand in casual greeting. "Welcome back. Though we coulda talked any time on your way here."

"Yeah, well, didn't really want an audience when I punched you in the face," Neku bit out. "If you don't undo what you did to my mom…"

Kariya twirled a lollipop between his fingers, all bored, lazy diffidence. "What I did? I talked to her, Phones. Poor woman's starved for it."

Neku ground his teeth. "You imprinted her."

Raised brows; a _who, me?_ gesture. "I was in the Realground the whole time. You saw me. Can't pull that kind of trick here. Even if I could, there's rules about that shit." The Reaper shrugged. "Uzuki, now.. _._ "

"Whatever. Just _undo it._ "

Kariya sucked on his lollipop for a moment, giving Neku an unimpressed look, then grinned. "Make me."

Neku dove at him, fist raised. Kariya staticked out as suddenly as he'd appeared, back to the Underground.

This time—somehow—Neku saw the way he took, and followed midstride.

Kariya had sidestepped as he shifted planes; he was chuckling, but stopped abruptly, his eyes widening just slightly as he realized Neku had come along. Neku pivoted and lashed out again, and Kariya dodged again, and then they were dancing—strike, dodge, counterstrike in a fast, whirling pattern that maybe shouldn't have been as natural as breathing, but was.

In the rush of it, the sheer relief of _not holding back,_ the weight of the city on Neku's shoulders dissolved. The rooftop was a blur around him; motion was effortless, as if his feet were barely skimming the ground. He couldn't quite find the mental path to take to reach his psychs, and couldn't take the time to try, but Kariya wasn't pushing it yet, content to stay just out of reach with a smirk on his face—

A fist caught Neku on the jaw with a stunning burst of power behind it. He hit the rooftop hard, hissing in pain. For a moment he lay still, dazed.

Kariya grinned down at him. "Aight there, Phones?"

Neku glared. "Fuck off."

Kariya shrugged unapologetically and sat down next to him, unwrapping another lollipop. He sucked on it, staring at the sky thoughtfully while Neku caught his breath. "So," he said at last. "You fell in love with the Composer. Explains a lot."

Neku winced. "I didn't fall in love with anyone. Least of all him."

"Ah. Right." Kariya scratched the back of his head. "So… thinking it'd be a good idea to let a few hundred thousand people get wiped, just so He might survive. Strictly platonic, yeah?"

"None of it's a good idea." Neku stared at the sky. "And I never said it was. Look, I know what I have to do, all right? I get it. I do. Doesn't mean I have to like it. And _that_ doesn't mean I'm—" He paused, and then shook his head slightly, wincing again as the motion made his neck twinge and his jaw throb. He knew _why_ Kariya was saying it, as much as he knew why his mother had asked about Shiki. But it was all… he didn't even know what it was, apart from nobody's business.

And like with Shiki, it was the wrong question—though wrong in different ways, maybe. Joshua was too fundamentally infuriating to exist in the same sentence as the word _love,_ but…

_But you still died for him._

_The_ second _time, it was even by choice._

"Word of advice?" Kariya said.

Neku rolled his eyes. "Can I stop you?"

Kariya's voice was cool, diffident. "I heard you yesterday, you know. Talking to your pretty little seamstress—"

"Don't talk about Shiki like that."

"So I heard you tell her what he did to you," Kariya said quietly. "Whole sordid story—though I'm guessing you held back on some of the details. And then? Then I heard you stand there and insist it was _complicated._ That it wasn't like that. _That—_ just so we're keeping score here—being the story you'd just told her your damn self."

Neku ground his teeth, said nothing.

"I've been in this business a long time," Kariya mused. "Longer than you'd probably guess. You know how many girls I've seen turn up in the Game still insisting that _their_ boy—"

"Shut up," Neku muttered.

"—Isn't _really_ like that?" Kariya continued, unperturbed. "Never is, y'know. It's always just a one-time thing—and then it's not, it's just when he's got a lot going on, work or school or whatever and it's all right, they're tough enough to take it, and he's always sorry afterwards—"

Despite himself, Neku snorted bitterly and muttered under his breath, "No risk of _that_ one."

Kariya shot him a sharp, appraising look. "Heard the same shit from a few boys over the decades, too, so don't go thinking you're free and clear. All in the Game, and one guess how most of 'em landed there."

"I'm not," Neku said flatly, because clearly nothing less definite was going to get through, "in love with Joshua."

And he wasn't. He was pretty sure he wasn't. But it hurt a little to say it so definitely, like he was tying himself to something he wouldn't be able to escape from.

"No?" Kariya mused. "But think about it, Phones. Take what I just said, and now throw a demigod with psychic powers into the mix. You saw how quick your mom flipped sides. One minute I was everything wrong with the youth of today. The next? Three seconds of work from Uzuki, and—" He snapped his fingers, and grinned, showing his teeth. "Fine upstanding citizen. Never mind that she'd _met_ me. And Uzuki, she's good at what she does, but you and I both know the little prince could knock her flat just by thinking it. So my advice to you, Phones? Is to think real, _real_ hard about how much you trust your own head right now."

There was a knot in Neku's throat, and he tried to breathe around it. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? To any of it? _You think I_ haven't _thought about it?_ Kariya'd been right about one thing; he hadn't told Shiki the full extent to which Joshua had messed with his head in the Game, stealing memories and drip-feeding them back. _Why don't you give the area a scan, partner?_

That he still trusted Joshua after that—that he was _all right,_ sort of, with the fact that he still trusted Joshua after that—was something far too private, and far too raw to the touch, to hand over to anyone else, even Shiki.

There was no way in _hell_ he was talking about it to Kariya. "So you brainwashed my mom to make a point to me," he said instead.

Kariya shrugged. "Don't take it too hard. Didn't do the lady any harm."

"You _brainwashed,_ " Neku repeated, more slowly, "my _mom._ "

"Yeah, and you still haven't landed that punch," Kariya said, and grinned. "Don't talk if you can't back it up, Phones."

Grumbling low in his throat, Neku sat up, and drew a deep breath, and made himself search for the mental state he'd found so easy to reach in the Game. He'd called up psych energy at least twice in the last day without thinking, fury at the angels snapping into something tangible and deadly in an instant, but he didn't know _how,_ and as angry as he was at Kariya it didn't seem to be triggering the same response. He had a sense at the edges of his mind of crackling power, waiting to be tapped and shaped into something deadly, but it shifted form and slid away when he reached for it.

Kariya watched him with eyebrows raised. "Take your time. I got nothing to do—just sitting here waiting for the world to end."

"Not helping, thanks."

"Yeah, well." Kariya twirled the lollipop between his fingers aimlessly for a moment. "Everything riding on this, and you're screwing around, worried about getting grounded and what your friends think and whether the guy you're definitely not in love with—"

Neku definitely didn't mutter anything rude in response to this—

"—Is worth the space he takes up," Kariya said. "That ain't exactly helping things either, kiddo. I get that your personal life kinda did a one-eighty last month, but not really the time, d'you think?"

 _I just found these people,_ Neku wanted to shout in his face. _I'm not walking away from them._ He slumped forward, resting his forehead in his hands, and mumbled, "Just shut up. Please."

Kariya shrugged. "'Kay." He pushed himself to his feet and strolled a few paces away, stretching.

Then he glanced back, and snapped his fingers.

A fan of knives slashed through the air, straight at Neku.

Neku launched himself sideways, cursing, and without thinking flung up his hand. A wall of light blinked into existence; the knives glanced off, clattered to the ground and vanished.

Kariya stood back and clapped, slowly and more than a little sarcastically. "So the good news is," he said, "that happened. Now just do that when you're _not_ about to die, and you're golden."

"I don't think they're calling the Game off if you kill me," Neku snapped, breathing heavily. The wall flickered out.

The Reaper chuckled. "Just seeing what would happen. Had a feeling it would be that. You've got this, kid, but with no pins to boost you along, you're gonna have to _believe_ you've got it."

"Oh. Great," Neku mumbled, slumped over and resting his hands on his knees. The burst of energy that had summoned the wall had drained him way more than it should have. "Should I shut my eyes and click my heels together three times, while I'm at it?"

The Reaper snorted. "You should stop thinking about it, is what you should do. Now, c'mon." He held his hand out, beckoning. "We've only got so long, kid. You gonna land that punch, or what?"

* * *

The sun set, and Neku hadn't landed the punch yet, but he'd gotten a little closer. He was starting to get some psych control back, too, as long as he didn't try too hard, small flashes of fire and lightning sparking to life around him and then hissing out again as soon as he thought about how he'd done it. He was starting to understand why Kariya's assumption, on seeing Joshua fight, had been that Joshua had broken into the Underground alive. It was the same as in the Game but different, more exhausting and more exhilirating at the same time, heady and dizzying; every time he stopped moving and came back to himself he found himself swaying on his feet, out of breath and two seconds away from a shaking collapse, and so the answer was not to stop. _Keep going keep going keep going_ until the time spooling itself out in front of him ran out and there was nowhere to go.

Finally Kariya called a halt, stepping his back and holding his hands up; Neku growled and dove towards him anyway, and Kariya shook his head and slammed a wall up between them. Neku skidded to a halt inches from crashing into it.

"It's past ten," Kariya said. "Go home. Get some rest. Tell your mom not to worry."

Reality crashed back with the mention of his mother as Neku gulped air. Right. Shit. There had been a point to coming here, and it hadn't just been to lose himself for an afternoon, or to train. "You've gotta undo what you did to her. You, Uzuki, whoever."

"Nah." Kariya wasn't even breathing hard. "You're the one who's gotta learn to fix shit, kid. You want it undone, you undo it." He waved a hand, brushing this away. "You'll get there. You're doing good. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"Screw you."

Kariya's teeth gleamed as he grinned. "Sleep tight."

Neku flipped back to the Realground partway down the maze of passageways from the rooftop, and found an empty ledge to sit on. After focusing in for a scan and being pretty sure there were no Reapers nearby, he pulled his phone out, closed out the half-dozen more messages from his mother, and dialed Shiki.

She answered after one ring. "There you are."

"Hey." He hugged one knee to his chest, shut his eyes. "Thanks for lunch today. It was… it was good for Mom. I'm sorry about Kariya."

"Not your fault," she said.

"Yeah, but you were right. I should've told you Beat and I went to him." He drew a breath, forced the next words out. "And I don't want to hide anything else from you if I can help it. So… listen, you started asking me earlier what this Game was about."

"Neku, if you don't want to talk about it—"

"I don't want to, but it's not about wanting to. They want me to be the next Composer, Shiki. Which means killing the current one. Killing Joshua." He barreled forward, before she could say anything. "That's what they're holding Shibuya hostage over, because they say everything that happened last month started… started screwing reality up and it's going to get worse and spread if they don't. They think if I'm Composer I can fix it, and they think if Joshua stays he'll make things worse. So. Yeah. That's the deal." He swallowed. "And I don't think it's a trick, Shiki. I don't think there's a way out of it."

He paused for breath. Very softly, Shiki said, "Oh, hell, Neku."

"So, listen, I just… I thought you should know. I'm going to try. I promise I'm going to try. But he's… strong, and I don't think he's going to back down, and if I do manage to take him down, I… well, I'm not sure where I'm going to be after that. Or… what I'm going to be, or what the rules are. So if everything's still here in a week but I'm… not, it's all right, okay? It means things worked."

"Neku—"

"But I've got to be as ready as I can," he pressed ahead. "I talked to them about it today and they're letting me go back to working with Kariya, to train. I've got to give that everything I've got. So… I may be mostly out of touch for the rest of the week. I'm sorry, Shiki. I—" His throat closed on everything he wanted to say.

 _I wish we had forever to just wander around the city together. Get to know each other when we're not both trying not to die. You're the first friend I've had in years and I'll never be able to tell you,_ really _tell you how much that means to me._

_I might not be in love with you, I might never be in love with you, but I love you._

"Neku, it's okay," she said quietly. "I mean, not okay. None of it's okay. But… you know what I mean. You do what you've got to—don't worry about me. You don't have to protect me. Just let me know if I can do anything to help."

 _You don't have to protect me._ He wondered again about his dream of doors, of their conversation at Hachiko. "I will," he said. "Right now I don't think there's a whole lot anyone can do, but if I'm wrong about that, you'll be the first person I tell."

"This might be nothing," she ventured. "I know I wasn't good at psychs like you, but—I was thinking, about the way what you wear has power in the Game, and I wondered if maybe… if Eri and I made you something, if it would work like that. I mean, it might not. And they might not let you keep it anyway. But I thought it would be worth trying."

Neku blinked, surprised and touched. "Thank you. I… that would be…" He stared up at the sky. "That would mean a lot. Thanks."

"I'll work on it, then," she said. "And, Neku—I'm here if you need to talk. But really, don't worry about me. Just… take care of yourself, and do what you gotta do, okay?"

* * *

A light was on as he pushed open the apartment door. His mother was sitting on the couch.

"It's past curfew," she said calmly.

Neku was too tired to care much, so he just muttered a weary "Yeah," and started for his room. From where his mother was sitting, if he kept his head down and slightly turned, she might not see the bruise Kariya had left on his jaw.

She said nothing until he was almost across the room. "Neku, I'd like to talk to you."

He stopped in his tracks, sighed.

"Won't you come sit?" An order, not an invitation.

He wished he was wearing his J of the M tank with the wide, thick collar he could partially hide his face in. No help for it; she'd see the bruise. Reluctantly he slumped over to the couch, and sat, and looked at her.

She studied his face in silence for what felt like an hour; he shifted uncomfortably and avoided meeting her gaze. At last she said, "You got in a fight?"

"Yeah."

She said nothing, just kept staring at him, and that was worse, somehow, than anything she could have said.

He stared at the wall, drummed one heel restlessly against the carpet, listened to the old-fashioned wall clock ticking the seconds away, imagined them burning into the palm of his hand with every tick, counting down the time he had left. When he couldn't stand the silence and the weight of her stare any more he muttered, "Dad gone to bed?"

"He has work in the morning."

"So do you."

"I'm your mother," she said.

Neku leaned back, cracking his neck and shifting his gaze to the ceiling, and thought: what the hell. He was grounded anyway, and he was going to ignore that anyway, and five days from now it would all be the same. "You know, I've been wondering for years," he said. "Do you actually love him?"

" _Neku_." Anger and stung shock laced through her voice.

He lifted his head and met her gaze. "Oh. So you can ask _me_ awkward questions that are nobody's business but mine, but I can't ask you. Got it."

"You're fifteen. You're fifteen, and it's my job to take care of you. And—"

"Mom," he said tiredly, " _you can't."_

Her breath caught. "Neku, any trouble you're in, anyone who's hurt you, we can figure out—"

"No." He couldn't help it; he laughed. It felt strangled, sticking in his throat. "No, Mom, I'm sorry, but we really can't."

"Neku, listen—"

" _You_ listen," he said, and she stopped, and looked at him, and he thought, well, this was it.

He'd thought about it a lot on his walk home, about what the angel had told him, and what it meant. They hadn't, in fact, taken Beat because of him. _They hadn't taken Beat because of him._ They'd used it as a convenient excuse to keep him playing by their rules, but not because of what he'd done; that would have been interfering.

Which probably meant that they wouldn't hurt his mother just to get at him, either. At worst, they'd erase him from her memory, like they'd taken Beat out of his parents'. And—

_And let's be totally real about that: it might be a kindness._

He thought a silent apology to her for the fact that he'd gotten her caught up in this. And then, slowly, he began, "You asked me this morning about Joshua."

Questions and worry hummed around her just on the edges of his hearing.

The only bit of it she voiced aloud, cautiously, was: "Neku, who is he?"

They weren't going to kill him for this, either. He'd told Kariya: they weren't calling off the Game. They needed him alive, and they needed him to win. He felt curiously calm about this as he said, "He's the boy you've been having nightmares about." 

She blinked, abruptly off-balance. "I don't understand," she said, but her voice shook.

"You told me yourself." He leaned forward, made himself meet her eyes. _A lie's okay to protect someone you care about,_ Shiki had said, but who the hell was he actually protecting by pretending things were normal? "About what happened in Udagawa. You've been having nightmares, right? These moments where you think it was me."

"They're just nightmares." She shook her head, looking dazed. "Neku, that's all they are. Why would you—"

"Because they're not," he said quietly, steadily. This would work or it wouldn't; it probably wouldn't, but either way he needed to know. He wasn't going into the Game wondering if maybe— _maybe_ —he could have made her hear him, if he'd just tried. "Mom, you asked if Joshua hurt me. Joshua's the kid who shot up Udagawa. It wasn't the yakuza."

She stared at him, speechless.

Neku drew a deep breath, steeled himself, and added, "And yeah. I was the kid he shot." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will totally go well. Yes.
> 
> 'Til next time.


	13. self-destruct sequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings—gaslighting, emotionally manipulative behavior, general mind games.
> 
> To be honest I'm not always great about knowing what to warn for, but I need to get better about it and there's going to be a fair bit of the above over the next couple chapters, some of it in what I think are pretty obvious ways and some of it... possibly not? I'll leave it at that for now because I hesitate to get into publically analyzing characters as I'm writing them—this shit's complicated, everyone's going to bring their own lens to things, the characters are also bringing their own lenses to things, and I'd rather let the story speak for itself than jump in with an authorial "this is what's Really Going On here"—but I'm feeling like the story's hitting the point where general warnings for the aforementioned Stuff might be a good idea, so yeah.
> 
> Will also be updating the tags shortly to be at least slightly more reflective of everything going on.

_Twelve. The kid—Yoshiya—was twelve. He said._

_He looked sort of small for twelve, but Hanekoma was going on what he said, for now, because somehow Yoshiya had made himself a blind spot in all but Hanekoma's simplest sight. He was right there, sitting at the window of the tea shop in the Realground, his eyes idly tracking the movements of a great cat Noise as it paced back and forth in the street outside. He was_ physically  _there. But Hanekoma couldn't see the kid's past and futures, couldn't hear his thoughts, couldn't even feel his emotional state or read his frequency unless he really focused. Somehow, something about the boy just… slid past his senses._

_He might have thought he was hallucinating, if angels did that. If his entire branch of the Collective hadn't been seeing the kid right along with him._

_At the same time, a part of him wished they weren't. There were pockets of curiosity and fascination among the mass of minds, but the general consensus was:_ _**This is dangerous, and we should put a stop to it. Now.** _

The angels' eyes were everywhere, and they were letting Hanekoma see some of it, and so he heard as Neku spoke Joshua's name to his mother.

Hanekoma closed his eyes, but that was the extent of emotional reaction he allowed himself. The higher-ups had made themselves clear: Hanekoma was going to orchestrate the upcoming Game, and neither player was to get through it unscathed, not when the stakes were so high. Under the circumstances, emotional reactions to a fifteen-year-old pulling dumb, rebellious shit were not advisable. At best, he'd be at it all day. At worst, if he kept at it, the angels would decide he was too thoroughly compromised to continue in his role. And while he'd have welcomed  _not_ being put in charge of any part of this mess…

…Well. They'd probably keep going easy on Neku, relatively speaking. If he said that was what they were doing in Neku's hearing, Neku would probably try to punch him in the face, but it was what it was. They liked Neku, or at least they liked the idea of a Neku who was out of Joshua's bad influence and in line with their way of doing things, who would open his mind and let them in. They made for appalling parents,  _badly_  mishandling their wayward child, but in their own minds and their own understanding of the term, they loved him. He'd almost certainly get out alive, if Joshua didn't kill him in the Game.

And then there was Joshua.

At best, Joshua wasn't going to get out alive, regardless of the Game's results; even if he was bastard enough to win—which Hanekoma didn't think he would be, but one never could be entirely sure with Joshua—he was unlikely to survive the shock of Shibuya being completely wiped.

And that was what it was, too; hell, Hanekoma would have killed him himself, last month, and last month was far from the first time he'd been  _tempted._ But Joshua dead was a best case. At worst… there were so many of the Collective that he'd tweaked over the years, some of them with deliberate intention, others who simply took his existence and his flagrant disdain for them as a danger and an affront. The last month—the last week, in particular—had only escalated things. If Hanekoma was benched from running this Game he was afraid of who they would hand it off to, and what they would do—whether to punish Hanekoma, or to put Joshua in what they saw as his place, or to point out to other Composers and say, in meaningful tones,  _This is what happens when you don't behave. Really, Shibuya brought it on himself. Any questions?_

Or any combination of the above.

No. It was better for all of them that Hanekoma stayed where he was, and if that meant gritting his teeth and watching and saying nothing as Neku brought whatever he was about to bring on himself, so be it. It wasn't like he could stop a damn thing they would do, anyway.

The angels had shut him out of the majority of their mental communications, but he didn't need to hear their words to feel their tension. There was a kind of expectancy to it, like someone drawing a deep breath just before they lashed out with everything they had.

And then the youngish one—the one who'd been taking such an up-close-and-personal interest in Neku and Joshua both recently—raised a hand. "No."

Hanekoma blinked, and the angels' gathered energy did a double-take. There was a peculiar gleam in the speaker's eyes. "No," he repeated. "Wait, just for a moment. Let's consider this."

Being an angel—even a fallen one—meant, to some extent, saying goodbye to linear notions of time: consciousness never fully leaving any past it had experienced, even as it blurred out over myriad possible futures, even as it danced in precarious balance on the eternal pinpoint  _moment_ at the center of all the rest.  _Déjà vu_ should probably have been a meaningless concept for Hanekoma, then. Still, it hit him hard as he watched this angel begin to speak.

And he considered how he'd spun a similar case to the Collective himself, decades earlier—when Shibuya's Underground had been a far darker place, desperately in need of a new Composer—and he closed his eyes again.

* * *

Neku could feel the angels watching, their unseen gazes boring into him, though not as harshly as they had before. His mother was staring at him, and her gaze alone weighed almost as much.

"Look," he said. "Just hear me out. I know—I know how it sounds, but—"

"Neku, that's not funny." Her voice was strained and tired.

An exhausted laugh escaped him. "Yeah, I know. Can't seem to convince him of that, though. He thinks it's fucking hilarious." He wished he knew where Joshua had gotten to, why the voice in his head hadn't chimed in with a single smug, knowing comment all day. "The point is—"

"I'm not  _listening_ to this. Neku, whatever's gotten into you today, it's—" She threw her hands up, glaring at him. "Worry for your missing friend is no excuse. You run off for hours with barely a word, you don't pick up the phone, you come back after curfew and you've been in a  _fight,_ and now—"

Neku held her gaze, leaned towards her, spoke over her words with all the force that he could muster, though he tried not to sound like he was raising his voice to her. " _To right the countless wrongs of our day._ That phrasing ring any bells?"

She exhaled a short breath that carried equal parts fury and exasperation. " _Don't_  interrupt me."

"You just interrupted me twice—"

" _I'm your mother,_ " she snapped, and rose, jabbing a finger towards the hall that led to his room. "And it's eleven thirty and I can't deal with this right now. You're grounded. Go to bed. We'll discuss—everything else—in the morning."

Neku drew in a breath, opened his mouth, shut it again, stood up.

"Grounded means no phone, either," his mother added, and held out her hand. "Hand it over. Now."

He would have been surprised, a month ago, at the sharp twinge of almost-panic that shot through him at that demand, at the way his hand went automatically, defensively to his pocket.  _No, I_ need  _that. You don't understand. Shiki's on the other end of it, and I—if something happens—_

Another breath, and he pulled the calm back over him.

Then he shut his eyes, and reached in the direction he'd seen Kariya go on the rooftop, and—it was like kicking off the bottom of a deep swimming pool, a little. Coil all his energy up and then  _launch_ , and trust he'd break the surface.

His mother sucked in a sharp breath, and he opened his eyes on the Underground. She was still just in front of him, staring at him—no, staring at where he had been. Without even trying now, he had a hazy impression of the knotted tangle of dim blue light he'd seen twisting around her when he'd accidentally scanned her at lunch. It flickered and lurched queasily as her gaze darted away and back and away again, skipping around the room faster and faster, trying to make sense of what she had just seen. She sat down heavily, shaking her head and blinking and raising a shaky hand to cover her mouth, but an instant later she was on her feet again, pacing towards the hall with urgency in her step. "Neku?  _Neku._ I didn't mean—where—" She was silent a moment, then shook her head again, confused, and carried on under her breath, almost chanting. "No. No, he's got to be in his room. I—I didn't see him leave. I'm seeing things. I'm seeing things. He's got to be in—"

Neku flipped back to the Realground, reaching out. "Mom.  _Mom_." She jumped, letting out a gasp, and he winced. "Sorry. I'm here. You're not going crazy, I promise. Everything's just—weird at the moment. But I'm not lying to you, and I need—I really need—for you to listen. Please?"

She stared at him in silence.

He drew a deep breath, and began.

He didn't tell her all of it, or anywhere close, just what he could. Joshua had busted into his life with guns blazing that afternoon by the mural, and had shot him. Neku had died there in the alley. Wrong place, wrong time. (And exactly the right place at exactly the right time, too, but he couldn't tell her that.)

It had been quick. (True.) He'd barely had time to be afraid. (That was a lie.) It hadn't hurt, he hadn't even felt it. (That was true, but he'd never, in a million lifetimes, tell her about the second time Joshua had shot him. Hitting the floor, everything colder than ice and too hot at the same time and he knew he was still crying and he couldn't stop, couldn't  _breathe_ and everything ached and—no.)

And then he'd… woken up to a strange new existence, and he'd had to learn to trust, and to care, and to see the city and its people in a new light.

* * *

In one of the few moments when Neku had found himself bearing the full weight of the angels' attention, Joshua had heard him think that it was like having his soul put under a microscope: light shining through every inch of everything he knew or thought or believed, leaving none of it with anywhere to hide.

Joshua had been under it rather more than Neku had recently, but he felt this was an accurate summary.

The pact link offered some escape. He'd been keeping himself hidden from Neku today; the angels had begun watching them more closely after Neku had gone venturing through strange doors in his dreams last night, and Neku's poker face just wasn't good enough. The risk that he would let too much reaction slip and give their communications away was too great; conversation was just going to have to wait until Neku was asleep, and Joshua could spirit them both away to their shared psych space.

But Neku had no idea how to hide his own side of the link from Joshua in return, and he had enough other things to worry about right now that  _Joshua_ certainly wasn't about to suggest he learn. Particularly not at present, with the angels' wards interfering with his senses and his connection to the district; Neku's eyes and ears were his clearest window on the world right now, and he had no interest in giving that up. So a part of his mind had hovered in the link for most of the day, hanging on Neku's actions with what he might—had he been being honest with himself—have called the hunger of a prisoner in the dark for a taste of sunlight.

The microscope snapped back on at full magnification the instant Neku, sitting tired and sullen across from his mother, spoke Joshua's name, and Joshua—the part of him that was present in himself—couldn't completely stop the flinch, couldn't stop the tremor that shot through him, couldn't stop the bead of sweat that ran down his forehead, couldn't stop his breath from getting a little shallower.

It was all right. He was all right. They were physical manifestations of fear, not mental ones. He knew this. It  _felt_ like they could see through him, see every thought and plan and secret, but it was meant to feel that way. If they actually could, he wouldn't be here.

So he let those reactions happen, because they were expected and suitable for his current circumstances, and because he couldn't do much about them, anyway. But he distanced himself from them as much as he could, and listened with morbid fascination—torn internally between delighted laughter and utter exasperation, because  _what part of playing along with the angels did you not understand, Neku?—_ as Neku  _went on_ speaking. And doing more than speaking.

After some minutes the pressure of the angels' gaze stopped abruptly. He slumped slightly, and reluctantly came fully back to himself; one of them was almost certainly about to turn up in person, and as tired as he was he couldn't afford distractions while he spoke to them. He granted himself a moment to pull himself together before looking up.

"Do you have  _any idea_ what your former proxy is doing right now?" It was the same angel it had been, the same one Neku had met a few times now—he still hadn't given a name, but he was more personable than the others, all sincerity and gentle compassion, most of the time. Joshua had… concerns about this one.

Right now he was the closest thing to genuine exasperation that Joshua had heard from him, and that was saying something, because he'd been talking to Joshua a lot over the last couple of days. Joshua mentally checked this off— _score one for Neku_ —and then gave the angel a bemused look. "Rattling you, apparently. Other than that? No idea. Do tell."

The angel sat down next to him, leaned forward, pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. "He's decided," he said, "to tell his mother."

"Tell his mother  _what,_ exactly?"

"We're all waiting with bated breath to find out the extent of it," the angel said sourly, and Joshua let a wry half smile slip. Concerns, definitely, but at least this one had some faint sense of humor. It could have been worse. "But the short answer appears to be 'virtually everything he's not allowed to.' His own death. The Underground. The Game. You."

Joshua let his brows climb higher and higher on his forehead as the angel spoke, but he broke into a delighted smirk at that last. "Really? Neku told his mother about me? That's so  _sweet._ " He leaned in, let his tone fall to a confidential register. "I thought he never would, you know. He's so shy about—"

"This isn't a joke, Shibuya," the angel snapped.

Joshua sighed, sitting back and looking away with a sharp, disgruntled movement, deliberately putting on the air of a petulant child who'd been scolded.  _Score one for me._

"This is a child," the angel said, "running loose in your ward with classified information." His voice softened as he spoke, and he reached out, rested his hand briefly on top of Joshua's own, and it was an effort, much more of an effort than it should have been, for Joshua not to tense or brush him away.

(It had been deeply peculiar, in the last few days, to find himself around people who genuinely thought they could just…  _touch_ him, without a second thought about it. Neku had too, of course, a few times—but that was Neku. It was different.)

"And yes, Joshua," the angel went on when he didn't respond, "I realize that given your own history, that may not trouble you much. But it's precisely  _because_ of your history that many of my fellows are particularly disturbed. A sizable contingent are voicing the sentiment that perhaps much trouble might have been avoided, had Shibuya's Producer been less… permissive with you, back when you were still of the Realground yourself."

Joshua didn't quite snort at this.  _Permissive._  He loved Sanae dearly, but there was plenty between them filed under  _Things We Don't Talk About_ , and one of those was what Sanae—back then Mr. Hanekoma, of course, as he was to everyone else—had eventually  _done_  when one Yoshiya Kiryu, then alive and aged fourteen, wouldn't keep his nose out of Underground business.

And of course this angel knew that.

And the small knot that was beginning to twist in Joshua's stomach, tight and sharp and painful, was only a physical symptom of fear, not a mental one. He knew that.

He took a breath. He was being tested right now; he knew  _that_ , because if they were threatening to punish Neku for anything related to the Underground, then really, there was a clear answer there. Neku was a child _._ And if someone handed a child a stack of state secrets and said  _do as thou wilt,_ well, who was most to blame when people started finding things they had no business knowing tacked up on the walls at school? One gave the child a sharp talking-to, certainly, but it was the person who'd let them walk off with the stuff in the first place who was really in for it. They'd held off on playing that card until now, content to lump Joshua's various misdeeds together to be accounted for in the upcoming Game, but that was before Neku had done… this.

It was a likely bet that was where this was going, whether or not Joshua was the one to say it. They wouldn't heap more serious punishment on Neku's head, not with the Game about to start, not if they had any brains at all—but when they had just been so openly and flagrantly defied, they would want there to be clear consequences for  _someone,_ and he suspected most of the contingent demanding that Neku suffer for it would be delighted to transfer their wrath over to him. So really, it was just a question of whether Joshua would play the responsible penitent—who might be a bit more kindly treated for his turn to selflessness—or… wouldn't, and wouldn't be.

There wasn't really a choice to make. Willingly offering himself up in Neku's place now would be admitting that he  _would,_ admitting that Neku was a weakness. And in the longer run—should he succeed in pulling off even half of what he hoped to, once the Game began—that wouldn't be doing Neku any favors. Besides which, it was almost certainly in the angels' minds to test, when the chips were down, whether he might sacrifice himself for Neku's sake after all. Whether there was any hope the upcoming Game might land in Neku's favor regardless of how well the boy played.

And as far as Joshua was concerned, they could sweat about that question.

On the off-chance that he was wrong, that they really intended to let the full brunt of this thing land on Neku's shoulders, he thought a silent apology to his partner. Didn't let him hear it, of course, but he  _thought_ it. That had to count for something.

And then he smiled, and put every cheerfully predatory inch of his nature into that smile. "Shame. I mean, up to you, but you're already throwing him into his—what—fifth death match of the summer. If you break him before it even starts, you're going to be out a  _fascinating_ show."

"Gods, Shibuya," the angel muttered, turning his face away and raising a hand to cover his eyes for a moment and oh, look, score another for Joshua. Good, he was in the lead again.

The moment passed, and the angel shook his head. "He wept for you," he said quietly. "You murdered him, and yet he wept for you. And I do believe, Joshua, that beneath the flippant shields you put up— _somewhere_ —there is compassion, and care beyond a childish fascination with a shiny new toy."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Joshua said. "I like him. He's charming, in a grouchy, sullen way. But you're the ones who decided to cast him as my challenger. I rather think leaves you at least partially responsible for whatever happens to him." He shrugged, hands spread, and let his smile go deadly again. "I mean, it's not  _exactly_ my first time, and you know how the rest of them ended."

The angel gave him a long, thoughtful look. "You know, it's funny you should say that," he said. "Before this is all over, we're going to have a long talk about what actually happened to your Producer's latest... protégé."

"Minamimoto?" Joshua blinked, his face blank. "No idea what you're talking about. I erased him."

"Mm." It was a politely skeptical noise, and Joshua silently ticked off a point in the angel's column. Far too clever, this one. "Well, that can wait. As regards Neku, you may be glad to know—if only to preserve the excitement of the upcoming Game—that a point not  _entirely_ dissimilar to yours was made regarding his fate. Though I focused less on the thrill factor—" the angel's tone was dry— "and more on the risks of leaving Shibuya's fate to a child traumatized beyond repair. Regardless of my rhetorical choices, I'm happy to say I was heard. Neku will be reprimanded, but he'll suffer no lasting harm for his recklessness."

 _Lasting,_ Joshua noted, but there was nothing he could do about it. He nodded, with the air of one distracted by larger matters. "Good. Now, what you were saying about Minamimoto—"

"I said that can wait, Joshua. We're not done discussing the matter of the breach. The fact is—"

The angel hesitated, just a fraction of a second. For an instant something flickered in his eyes, and Joshua thought:  _He doesn't want to say it. Or he's doing a very good job of pretending he doesn't want to say it._

Joshua wasn't sure which it was, and he didn't like that uncertainty at all.

"The fact is that while Neku is currently being foolish and reckless, he acts with a child's ignorance," the angel said quietly. "You, who  _knowingly_ let him return to the Realground with a great deal of knowledge of the Underground's affairs, implicitly vouched in doing so that you would take responsibility should he misuse that knowledge. The Collective has agreed on this. Please know that I've tried to shelter you from the worst effects of your own stubbornness since this mess began, Joshua, but Shibuya's hope lies with Neku. Protecting him has to take priority, and…" The angel's small shrug as he trailed off was sufficiently eloquent to express that sometimes, in pursuit of one's priorities, sacrifices had to be made. "The Game will go ahead, but I fear the remainder of your time in waiting will be less comfortable than what you've so far been allowed."

Joshua stared straight ahead, kept his expression neutral, gave a small nod.  _And after… last night, you suspect he and I may be in contact—that he may have gotten into my head after all, and isn't telling you—so whatever you do to me, you don't tell him, do you? You wait and watch to see what he finds out, and trust that he'll betray himself when he does. Because as hard as he tries not to, he wears his heart on his face._ "I understand."

This was potentially going to be a tricky one.

"They've granted you until dawn," the angel said, voice gentle. "I suggest you rest, Joshua. You'll need it."

Joshua bowed his head, glad he had learned to keep his tone level and controlled long before he had begun speaking to angels. "Thank them, please, for their generosity."

"Indeed." The angel reached out and rested a hand on Joshua's shoulder, unwanted, and added, not unkindly, "I'm sorry."

* * *

Neku's mother listened, her brow knitted with consternation, her eyes unreadable, and said nothing. The blue light was still a dim, ghostly halo around her; there was something lifeless about it, cold and suffocating. It scared Neku to look at too closely, and he willed it to ease and grow warm, wished he knew how to… make it better. Make everything better.

"The boy who killed me," he said carefully. "Joshua. He's—maybe what you'd call shinigami? Something like that. A… really powerful one." They were all shinigami, but he wasn't going to go into the whole stupid hierarchy. She didn't need to know Joshua had subordinates, didn't need to know they had stupid uniform hoodies and handbooks and a points system for how many dead kids they killed. "He runs things, and he sort of, um. Decides what happens to the dead. And there was a job he needed done in the Under… the… well." Neku rubbed his forehead ruefully. He knew it was entirely his imagination that he could feel a small spot at the center of it burning, could still feel Joshua's fingertip brushing across it from days earlier.

(Probably entirely his imagination. Maybe. Joshua had made a pact with him, with that light touch—without permission— _again_ —and Neku might not have liked the point Kariya had made about Joshua's ability to manipulate minds, but that didn't mean it hadn't been a point.)

"He needed somebody from outside. From the, well, the living world. So he sort of conscripted me, I guess you could say." He shook his head, half wanting to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and half wanting to shut his eyes and let his face fall into his hands. "Long story short, I… did his work for him, and he sent me back. But that's kind of where it gets complicated."

He scrubbed distractedly at the side of his face, then tangled his fingers in his hair, tightened his grip until the pressure on his scalp wasn't quite painful. It distracted from the ghost of the bullet hole, a little. His mother was still silent; her eyes were going unfocused, looking into the middle distance. But was it his imagination wanting to see it, or had something in her aura softened a little as he spoke, begun to brighten?

Cautiously, he ventured, "Um. Are you… is any of this…" But he didn't know how to ask:  _Is it even remotely possible for you to believe anything I'm saying right now?_

Well, no, that  _was_ how to ask. There wasn't really a way around it. He just really didn't want to hear her say no.

But he didn't have to finish the question. His mother spoke, her voice very small. "I keep remembering someone knocking on the door. Not remembering. Imagining, but… too vividly. Police, two of them. Saying things that didn't… that couldn't…" She stopped, and shook her head, and passed a hand over her eyes. "But you're here. You're here now."

"Yeah." He looked down. "Now. But, Mom, the thing is…"

He stopped. He couldn't finish that sentence. When he'd seen her in his dreams, or her dreams, or wherever the hell they'd been when they met by the mural last night, he hadn't had to be the one to say it; she'd  _known. You're not back to stay, are you._ A statement, not a question.

He shut his eyes, wished desperately that she could be the one to say it this time, too, so that he wouldn't have to—

"The thing is you're not back to stay," she said quietly. "Are you."

Relief washed over him like a cleansing rain, to sweet to wonder at, and he looked up at her and found her looking back at him steadily, the dim blue light around her somehow transformed into something serene and calm and knowing. "No. I'm not."

She nodded, slowly, and said, "I think I knew. I don't  _understand,_ but I think… I think I knew." And then she was reaching forward, enveloping him in a hug for the first time in he couldn't remember how many years, pulling him tightly to her. He leaned his head on her shoulder and shut his eyes again and hugged her back, and tried to pull in every detail of the moment, hold it close, so that he'd be able to carry it with him when he went.

Eventually she relaxed her grip and stepped back to hold him out at arm's length so her gaze could search his face. "Tell me what you need from me."

"Time. Space. I… have a few days, still, but I have a lot to figure out, Mom, and I just…" He shook his head, his throat thick. "I need to—to know you're going to be okay."

She tilted her head, regarded him solemnly. "Will you be?"

And somehow, this time, he could say what he hadn't been able to say in the dream space. "Yeah. Yeah, I will." His voice was strange to his own ears, confident, steady and strong. "And I'll come back if I can. I promise."

She smiled, just slightly, but there was something radiant in it, and she leaned in again, raising on her toes slightly to kiss him on the forehead. "Then I'll be fine."

* * *

She'd listened. She'd listened she'd listened  _she'd listened_ and in practical terms it meant absolutely nothing, the fate of Shibuya was still hanging by a thread, but she'd  _listened_ and he didn't have to pretend everything was normal and he could breathe, he could actually breathe again.

They'd probably find a way to fuck it up, he knew that. Steal her memory again, maybe, if they could, but here and now she'd heard him, and they couldn't take  _his_ memory of that. There had been a moment of truth, and even if they took it he'd… he'd make it right. Somehow.

"I assume you know you're on very thin ice here."

Neku gave the angel a borderline-manic grin as he strode—practically flew—into his bedroom and shut the door. "Can't be. Shibuya's not cold enough for ice."

He flopped over backwards onto his bed with a small groan, heartbeat pounding in his ears, lights dancing around the edges of his brain. The hit to his jaw wasn't the only one Kariya had landed, just the only one that was visible. Between that and the sheer amount of time he'd spent in constant motion— _dodge and strike and spin and dodge again, you know this dance_ —his entire body ached. He ignored the angel, pulled his pillow over his eyes, and waited to get hit by lightning or whatever the hell was about to happen. They'd hurt him, probably, but he'd  _done_ pain and survived and they needed him for this stupid Game to run. He had to remember that.

_And if you're wrong about the non-interference? If they hurt someone else because of what you did?_

He stared at the underside of the pillow.  _Then when Joshua and I take them on, we make them fucking pay._

There was the scraping sound of his desk chair being dragged across the floor, over to the side of the bed, and he heard the angel settling into it. Then there was silence, which Neku waited out in forced calm, trying to slow his breathing.  _I don't care. If they want Shibuya to survive they need me. And whatever they do, I did what I needed to. I don't care._

"A large number of my colleagues," the angel said at last, gently, "are of the opinion that this is what arrogant youthful rebellion looks like. They're quite furious with you. I proposed an alternative to them: that perhaps this is in fact what acceptance looks like—or the beginning of it. An attempt to set your affairs in order, as it were, so that you can move forward with integrity and a clear conscience. Was I wrong?"

Neku had been so braced for immediate backlash that for an instant he was lost, the angel's words reaching his ears as little more than gibberish. They settled in gradually, piecing themselves together, and he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He trusted this kind, understanding voice not at all, and it once again had that Mr. H it'll-all-be-okay quality about it that made him  _want_ to trust it, and that… that, in context, made him want to shove it away from him, throw up a wall. Ten walls. And then rig them with exploding porcupine quills.

 _Play along._  In speaking to his mother he had hit—if not completely blasted past—the limit of how much he was going to get away with; he had known that when he was doing it. He'd done what he had to, and now he'd… do what he had to, and if they were going to play friendly about this, he had to go along with it. "No," he said at last, the word feeling thick and awkward. "No. You're not wrong."

"No, I thought not." A sigh. "Neku, did you know your mother was hospitalized after your death?"

He was silent for a moment, and then pulled the pillow off his face, lifted his head, and gave the angel a hard look. "What?"

"Her mental stability has long been precarious," the angel said quietly. "Under the circumstances… she broke down, and your father was ill-equipped to care for her. He tried, but after several days he had her committed to psychiatric care."

Neku swallowed. His mother hated hospitals; she had for as long as he could remember. "No. I didn't know that."

"Unfortunately, your mother has a certain amount of natural psychic inclination—unhoned, but no less real for it—which makes such a setting a poor environment for recovery. Mental hospitals by their nature tend to contain a particularly high concentration of strong negative emotions, you see, and what do we know about negative emotions?" There was something faintly pedantic about the way the angel asked, as if he were a science teacher prompting a student through a chain of reasoning.

"They attract Noise," Neku said, wearily.

"Indeed. And what, in turn, do the Noise—"

"They amplify negative emotions," Neku interrupted. "Okay. I get the picture."

"Do you?" The angel regarded him somberly, and then reached out, palm open. Quietly, he said, "Neku, give me your hand, please."

Neku shied away automatically, folding his arms over his chest, something about the way the angel said it reminding him of Joshua on the rooftop the previous night, letting him in on a glimpse of the city's music. The thought of sharing anything half as intimate with any of the angels turned his stomach. "Why?"

"I would like," the angel said, "to show you the… picture in more detail. What it can be like, to be put in that situation. You should have the opportunity to experience it, I think, although I regret to say that it will be unpleasant."

Neku's chest tightened. "And if I say I'll take your word for it?"

The angel's eyes creased at the corners in soft amusement. "Then that would be a first. But I think you know that would be an unworthy response, Neku. You've encouraged your mother to remember. Shouldn't you know  _what_ you're encouraging her to remember?"

Unexpected shame burned through him. He swallowed and shifted his gaze away from the angel's eyes. "It's not that. It's—I don't want you in my head. I don't want  _anyone_ in my head. You know what he did." Those last words slipped out before he could stop them, more honest than he'd meant to be. "You said this morning, you knew what he did. So you know why I don't want anyone screwing around with my mind."

"I do." Compassion seemed to radiate out from the angel, like a soft glow permeating the space around him. "Neku, this isn't that, I promise you. I won't be altering your memory, or your thoughts—only shifting your perception, briefly, to allow you to experience the world as your mother sometimes has." He spoke in calm, soft, measured words, his tone that of a parent reassuring a small child. "I don't pretend it won't hurt—this  _is_ a punishment, Neku, let me be clear. Telling your mother what you told her was reckless, and if we hadn't precisely ordered you not to, it was not because we condoned it but because we hadn't expected an outright prohibition was necessary—which expectation we believe you were perfectly well aware of. So yes, it will be unpleasant. But you'll suffer no permanent harm."

A strange, hollow ringing began on the edge of Neku's hearing as he listened to the angel's kindly voice carry on.

"And let me be clear, too, that you've been heard in your plea for information, for greater understanding. You are still but a child, who can't be expected to see the larger picture without aid. As such, consequences that punish without also instructing are ill-deserved. You've insisted that you  _want_ to learn, want to understand; were you sincere in that?" There was something almost hypnotic in the cadence of the angel's speech. "Even if it hurts? That's what I'm asking you now, Neku. There will be consequences whether or not you cooperate with them, of course, but—I would ask you to see this as opportunity, rather than something to be avoided and feared. Knowledge alone is rarely enough for understanding; experience is sometimes a harsh teacher, but an effective one."

Neku said nothing, and the angel leaned in, elbows on his knees, his eyes intent on Neku's face. "Earlier today you asked that we show greater trust in you—well, how did you put it?  _If you want me to believe you're any better than Joshua, then start by being better._  But trust, I think, is the essence of that. Trust and respect, enough to share knowledge more freely, enough to grant you more freedom. Yet then you act out, and my brethren—many of them—worry, seeing in you another defiant, willful child who wishes only to do as he pleases, regardless of who it may hurt. So consider that perhaps  _being better than Joshua_  goes both ways, Neku. You want our trust?" The angel tilted his head to one side. "Show me you're wise enough to willingly take responsibility for your actions. Even if the knowledge gained isn't the knowledge you want. Even if hurts."

The angel paused for a moment, and then extended his hand again.

_Play along. You know you have to._

Neku felt as if he wasn't quite in his body, as if he was behind a glass wall watching some stranger move his limbs, as he reached out and took the angel's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts on this one, if you're up for it; this chapter and the next have been some of the... trickier things I've written recently. I've been over them a lot but I'm still not quite sure I got some of the stuff in here right, and I'd really appreciate hearing reactions to any bits you feel like reacting to. No pressure though! :)


	14. some things break, some explode, some do both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Vivid-ish panic attack. Mentions of suicidal ideation. Joshua being... more of an ass than usual, which if you’ve read this far you know is saying something.
> 
> I meant this one to be up much sooner. Sorry 'bout that.

_He reached out, and took the angel's hand._

Static.

He came back to himself some time later, and became aware that he was crying.

The angel's voice was a warm blanket settling around his shoulders. "Breathe, Neku. You're safe. Nothing happened, do you understand? _Nothing happened._ Breathe."

Nothing. Nothing? He'd been—there had been—

_Panic clawing at his chest, choking him, emptiness roaring in his ears—_

Static.

"Breathe," the angel said again, quietly.

He sucked in a ragged, noisy lungful of air, let it out in a sharp gasp, sucked in another, and another—too much, _too much_ there were bright spots in his vision and his head swam but he couldn't stop. He was doubled over on the bed, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso as if he'd fly apart into pieces if he let go, but he couldn't stop that, either. His body had taken over from his mind.

"You're safe, Neku." The blanket became a little softer, a little warmer, wrapped a little closer around him. "It wasn't real."

His breathing started to ease, but the presence of the angel's voice was invasive in its comforting warmth, smothering. He wanted to scream back at it—shut up, just shut the _hell_ up—but he couldn't quite get control of his voice and his mouth and the rage made his chest tighten up and his breath get harsher and faster again, and the angel murmured another quiet, gentle _Shh, you're safe_ and it made Neku's skin crawl—

—But at the same time it brought back the sense of the blanket, soothing and safe, and he felt something inside him drop down a notch, and his breathing started to calm again—

Static.

—No. He _wasn't_ safe. no one was, and the Noise had closed in so thick around his head he couldn't breathe and he opened his mouth to yell, hands tore away from his sides to thrash at the air and the angel and the blanket—

"Breathe. You're all right."

His breathing started to calm.

_No—_

The circle went round, and round, and round.

Gradually, awareness began to sink into his awareness that it _was_ a circle. Panic—false comfort and forced calm—anger—helpless rage—more panic, swinging wildly up and down like he was trapped on some insane amusement park ride.

Seeing it for what it was didn't do shit for helping him find his way off it. He stared past the angel and let the words wash over him, let the mess of emotions sweep through in their wake, and gradually he started to drift, floating away from himself until he could no longer make out the angel's words, couldn't hear anything more than a low, distant hum of speech. From that distance, he waited.

And waited.

And then he blinked, and abruptly he was back at ground level, looking out through his own eyes, in control of his own body again. Exhaustion crashed over him, and he twisted away, fell sideways onto his bed, pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Good. You're all right, Neku." The angel's voice was low and calm and reassuring, and Neku couldn't help flinching at it, but he was too tired to feel anything. "The Noise amplify negative emotion beyond what it should be; you know that. So annoyance becomes anger becomes rage, and anxiety becomes fear becomes terror."

Neku said nothing, didn't have the energy, but he sensed some response was expected of him, might make the angel leave him alone sooner, and so he nodded, dully.

"The effects are stronger when one has a sensitivity to psychic energy," the angel went on quietly. "You have that, as your mother does, but unlike her—unlike most in the Realground—you've gained some experience at protecting yourself. I blocked you from doing so for a short time, so you could see what that was like. I would not have let harm come to you, but you needed to understand how harmful unneeded exposure to the Underground might be for _her_. It was a lesson, Neku. Recognize it for what it was—that, and nothing more."

Neku stared past him at the wall, let the words settle like weights over him as the angel continued to speak in the same gentle, soothing voice, let the weights pull him down and away from the meaning of what was being said.

Down, and away, and down, until eventually he slept.

* * *

_Neku walked through a long, twisting hall. It was lined with doors, but none of them were the one he was looking for; he knew that, even though they all looked alike and he couldn't quite remember the target of his search. He would know it when he saw it, and so he kept going, around twists and turns and down stairs and down more stairs, down and down, and past more doors—hundreds of doors, and then thousands—that went on looking alike._

_And then there was one, on a landing halfway down a staircase, that looked exactly like all the others, but he knew when he saw it that it was the one he was looking for. Without hesitation, he pushed it open and stepped through._

"Let me see."

Someone's hand was wrapped around his wrist, in a grip gentle but nonetheless stern. They were lifting his arm in front of him as if it were a fragile and valuable museum piece, turning it carefully one way and then the other, not quite enough to strain his joints either way.

For an instant the overpowering urge to pull away staticked through him, but even as it did it felt… detached, his but not completely his. Then it was gone, in a rush of cool and soothing ambivalence more welcome but equally alien. He blinked, disoriented, and stared in blank confusion at the intricate web of black ink spidering up his arm—

_A mild voice spoke in his ear. "I did tell you last time—no."_

— _And his surroundings dissolved, and sent him tumbling through darkness._

_He flailed his arms, but there was nothing but empty space around him, nothing to catch himself on. Nothing underneath him, and only the slightest sense of air moving against his skin, so he couldn't quite tell if he was falling or floating. He wasn't even sure which way was up or down—he twisted and turned and couldn't feel gravity's pull, had nothing to orient himself against._

_For some time, he struggled against the nothingness._

_For a longer time he lapsed into a listless, tired haze, staring at the dark and not thinking about much._

_Then something in his head snapped, and he threw his head back and yelled in wordless frustration, louder than he'd yelled when he woke up at the scramble after Joshua shot him the second time. Enough of this bullshit, he'd had enough, enough,_ _ **enough**_ —

_A wall of sound slammed into him and he doubled over, curling into a ball, and only after it had passed and he'd shakily taken his hands away from his ears did he recognize it as his own voice, amplifed back at him._

_Fine. That was how it was, then._

_The urge to scream had gone, but it had left him restless, trapped and jittery and needing something he could lash out at, and he started drumming his fingers repeatedly, relentlessly against the side of his leg just to get any kind of tactile sensation at all. Counting the beats in his head, wishing there was any kind of music instead of the silence ringing in his ears—_ _ **one**_ _-two-three-four-_ _ **two**_ _-two-three-four-_ _ **three**_ …

_He'd made it up to_ _**hundredninetyone** _ _-two-three-four, humming under his breath, when a light, dry voice cut through his litany:_

_"Honestly, Neku, you'd deserve it if I left you there. It's lucky for you I like you, you know that?" Joshua's exasperated sigh was all too familiar, and he spoke like someone calling a wayward pet out of trouble. "Come on, then. Out."_

_Neku managed to spin, awkward and flailing, and then there was an open door right in front of him, light streaming through, and Joshua was standing there, foot tapping impatiently, one hand on his hip, other hand out and beckoning. He caught Neku's hand and pulled him closer, and—_

—Concrete under his feet, cool night air on his skin. Joshua let go, and Neku stumbled a few extra steps with a gasp and a curse, reeling as gravity reasserted itself. He pulled himself back into balance, and looked around, and blinked. He was back on the rooftop, under the impossible stars, heart racing from the abrupt return to… not reality, but something like it. "What the _fuck_ —"

Joshua folded his arms over his chest and gave him a reproving look, brows raised. "And that would be why we don't wander through strange doors without knocking first, hm?"

Neku reached out for something to hold onto. His hand found a convenient wall where he needed one, and he leaned against it, shutting his eyes, trying to make sense of things—of something, of anything—as reality crashed back into place in his head and his pulse thumped in his ears.

Strange doors. Right. Like the ones last night, where he'd seen Shiki and his mother and—his thoughts skipped ahead in the sequence, jittery and nervous. His mother. He'd _told_ her what was going on, and she'd actually listened, but then the angel had—no, skip over that bit—and then he'd… he must have fallen asleep, and then there'd been more doors and then—okay, no, looking through the bigger picture wasn't clearing things up much. He swallowed thickly and opened his eyes. "What _was_ that?"

"Poor judgment," Joshua said. "I mean, yes, it was _one_ way to cap off what was already a spectacularly reckless day for you—" The reproving look slipped away, replaced by a wry, knowing grin. "Thank you for that, by the way. You have no idea how boring my own day would have been without your exploits to watch."

"Boring." Bewilderment evaporated in a rush as Neku almost choked, the pent-up anger and fear and _frustration_ of his day abruptly boiling up to the surface and exploding over the edge and bringing him fully back to the present moment, in a way that shutting his eyes and trying to breathe hadn't. " _Boring?_ What—oh, god." He clapped a hand to his chest as if wounded, let his tone drip with sarcasm. "Are they still not letting you play with your phone? I'm so sorry."

Joshua rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, but Neku barrelled ahead before he could speak, and if a little bit of a snarl slipped into his voice, well, it could stay there. "Seriously, so glad I could entertain you, Joshua. So _freaking_ glad you thought my day was funny. What was your favorite part, huh?"

"Neku—"

"No, seriously, what was it? Was it my mom getting brainwashed by Reapers? Was it me getting beat the fuck up by Kariya for like eight hours straight?"

(His thoughts tripped over themselves for a moment, because—oh, gods, please tell him Joshua hadn't heard Kariya's opinions on his love life, or his own responses. _Please._ Neku wasn't ready to deal with any of that, on any level.)

"Or how about the bit where the angels dropped my brain into a Noise cloud so I could see what it felt like—how about that? That was just a laugh a fucking minute, yeah? And then there's whatever the _hell_ happened just now." His voice had risen to a shout somewhere in there; he considered that for half a second as he sucked in a breath, and decided that yeah, he was good with keeping that up too. "So come on, Joshua, let's hear it. Tell me how incredibly _fucking entertaining_ my day was for you."

Silence—a brief, still, potent silence—and then Joshua shrugged, smirking as he twirled a strand of hair around one finger. "Well, since you ask—I liked the bit where you told your mother about me." His smirk widened into a grin equal parts cheerful and deadly, and he winked. "But the rest was fun, too."

 _Breathe._ Neku almost couldn't for an instant, Joshua's casual dismissal of—of _everything_ closing like a vise around his chest, suffocating. He turned away, fists clenched, teeth gritted, eyes closed, and said nothing.

"Honestly, Neku. If you were fishing for pity, let's just go through that list, shall we?" And Neku didn't have to be watching him to see him ticking points off on his fingers. "Kariya's interruption of your lunch: you'd just called out the angels, made demands of them. If you really thought they weren't going to answer in the most uncomfortable and inconvenient way possible, you haven't understood much about them yet. Your subsequent fight with Kariya: _you_ sought _him_ out, if you recall. And _he_ forced _you_ to stop the fight, in the end, when you'd have kept going until you collapsed. And then the Noise cloud? What you told your mother was an act of open defiance. You knew that when you did it." Joshua's voice was mercilessly light and disinterested. "Don't get me wrong—I'm all for testing their limits, but you were _incredibly_ lucky that angel took your side. They aren't all so lenient."

Neku opened his eyes, and stared down the line of rooftops leading away from 104. Just last night he'd thought that if he could only catch hold of the calm still moment he'd found up here, sitting at Joshua's side above the city and under the stars, he'd stay there forever.

_Guess that moment got away._

He opened his mouth, closed it again wordlessly, shoved his hands into his pockets, and started walking.

"Neku—"

He paused, didn't turn around, wondered at how even his voice was when he spoke. "Josh, I have had a hell of a day, and I really can't deal with your bullshit right now. So—thanks for hauling me out of that… weird psych space, or whatever that was I fell into just now. And sorry you've been bored. But unless you're going to tone the attitude down by, like, _all of it_ , just—do us both a favor and leave me the hell alone. Please."

He waited for one second, two, three. Joshua said nothing, and Neku shook his head and walked away. He wasn't sure how far he'd be able to go in this space, but what the hell—it had been a day for testing limits. Anyway, it was imaginary, so maybe it would go as far as he wanted it to. He imagined a bridge from one roof to the next, and it was there; he crossed it, and let it fade out behind him as soon as he'd stepped off, and headed for the next, and then the next after that.

He became aware of a presence beside him half a beat before he heard the footsteps, and glanced briefly at Joshua out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. Joshua did not return the glance; he stared straight ahead as he walked, his face expressionless. They went on in silence, and the rooftops blurred around them and gradually resolved into streets that were familiar in their form but utterly alien in their emptiness. Neku had never seen the scramble without people; he had to stare around at it for a moment to be sure that was actually what he was looking at.

After a few minutes, Joshua said, quietly, "In the restaurant today, with your mother and Shiki. I know you were hurting, and I know you needed someone to talk to, someplace you could retreat from the immediacy of—what you stand to lose, in all this. I heard you looking for me in your thoughts. I'm… sorry I couldn't answer."

Neku blinked, nonplussed. _Sorry? Holy shit, you do know how to pronounce the word._ But he was fresh out of anything conciliatory to say, out of anything at all to say, really, and so he nodded and said nothing

Joshua drew a breath as if he was about to say more, and then let it out, and walked a few paces, and then drew another. There was an oddly hesitant note underlying his tone when he did speak. "Neku, when I said—look, when I said my day had been boring—" Another pause, another breath; he ran a hand distractedly through his hair, glancing away. "When I said—all of what I said, just now—I…"

Another, longer pause.

 _Aaand… he's forgotten how again. Shock of the fucking year._ "I was worried about you," Neku said flatly, when the silence had stretched painfully thin. "You know that? And don't give me any of that smug, _'Aw, how sweet of you'_ crap. You dropped off the map so suddenly this morning—right after that angel said you'd picked a fight with him, and you wouldn't tell me what happened—and then I couldn't sense you in my head, and I didn't hear a word from you all. Day. Not when I called for you, not when Kariya showed up, not when I was talking to my mom. None of it, not one comment—from _you,_ and you've got a snarky comment for everything. I was seriously starting to think they'd—"

He cut off, shaking his head, hating the knots that his stomach twisted itself into just thinking about it. Hating that it was _Joshua_ he was worried about, hating that he could hear Kariya's merciless assessment echoing back to him: _Heard the same shit from a few boys over the decades, Phones, so don't go thinking you're free and clear. And think real,_ real _hard about how much you trust your own head right now._

"Starting to think they'd what?" Joshua asked, his tone curiously neutral.

"I don't _know._ " Neku threw his hands up. "But you picked a fight with them, Joshua, you didn't deny that. That sure as hell sounds like _open defiance,_ and you just said yourself how happy they are about that _._ What the hell was I supposed to think, when you disappeared?" He was walking faster, strides lengthening. "And since you don't tell me a goddamn thing—"

"I'm not obliged to tell you everything, Neku," Joshua cut in. "You're not my keeper."

Neku made a disgusted noise deep in his throat. "No. No, just the bodyguard you picked up on a street corner. It's not like I actually give a shit if you live or die. _I'm your partner_ , you fucking idiot. I'm your partner, and—they could have killed you."

"Neku, I'm truly touched by your concern, but they weren't going to. It would've been far too much paperwork."

"Too much paperwork. That's it? _That's_ your defense?" Neku slammed the heel of his hand into his temple with an exasperated breath. "Great. So all that stands between you and suicide-by-angel is their lack of an enthusiastic _secretary_? Joshua, seriously. _What if they'd killed_ _you?_ "

"Well? What if they had?" Joshua shrugged, voice light. "If you're worried about our pact, then don't be. It's not quite like the ones in the Game, if you hadn't figured that out yet. I'm fully capable of breaking it should I find myself facing erasure, doing no harm to you in the process—and let's be honest." His mouth twisted into a wry, lopsided smile, and he reached his arms out in front of him for a moment, lacing his fingers together and stretching his wrists, a relaxed, casual gesture, before he tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "If they did kill me, it would save you a lot of trouble."

For an instant Neku froze, and almost tripped on the pavement as his step stuttered midstride. And then he was rounding on his partner, grabbing him by the shoulders, spinning him so they were face to face. "Don't you dare," he bit out. "Don't you _fucking_ dare, Joshua. I didn't—I didn't _not shoot you_ so you could go antagonize someone else into doing it."

Joshua jerked his chin up and stared coolly back at him, let a beat pass in silence, long enough for it to sink into the more rational part of Neku's brain that this was the _Composer_ he'd just grabbed and manhandled.

It got there eventually, and he swallowed. He should let go, he knew that. Let go, walk it back, mutter his own apology. One of them was going to have to, and they both knew it wouldn't be Joshua.

He knew, and his fingers dug in deeper, because gods _damn_ it—he just wanted some reaction. Any reaction, anything that was actually honest and uncalculated—and okay, yeah, maybe he wanted it to hurt, just a little. But it was _Joshua._ Honestly, would anyone blame him? Shiki and Beat wouldn't; his mother wouldn't; Kariya sure as hell wouldn't, and granted that last one was an alarm bell, but screw it. It was a day for pushing limits.

Joshua's mouth thinned a little; another beat passed before he spoke, his voice deadly soft. "Didn't get enough from Kariya, Neku? I'll gladly go a round with you myself if that's really what you're looking for, but please be warned I'm in no mood to hold back. Otherwise? I'm going to say this once: Let. Go. Of. Me."

" _Like hell I'm letting go of you,_ " Neku snapped. "You jumped into the Game for a adrenaline rush. You handed me a gun and told me to shoot you, right after you'd given me every _fucking_ reason to do it. You keep defending Mr. H, who—just to recap— _tried to kill you._ You pick a fight with angels because—because I don't even know. Because you're bored and you want to see what they'll do." His fingers dug in harder with every point, Joshua's calm expression only making him angrier. "You've got a fucking _death wish,_ Joshua, and I'm not going to stand here and listen to you talk like it's nothing, like you'd be _doing me a favor—_ "

He puncuated the last word with a short, sharp shake. His hand slipped sideways, caught on the fabric of Joshua's hoodie, and inadvertently tugged at it, and for the first time Joshua tensed, shoulders stiffening, and shifted as if to try to pull away. Some instinct prompted Neku to drop his gaze, and it fell on a dark line of ink that twisted across Joshua's skin at the base of his throat and over his collarbone—

Light slammed into him with the force of a speeding truck, and furious noise roared in his ears, and he was flying backwards. Joshua, his blurred figure the only thing Neku could see through the light, raised his hand.

Neku had just enough presence of mind to fling his arms up to protect his head and face, for whatever meager good it would do.

And then it was raining metal, machinery crashing to the concrete with ear-shattering crashes and sparks flying and shrapnel buzzing past his ear so close he could feel it and _why vending machines, Joshua, just—why_ , and somewhere along the way he'd hit the concrete too and he couldn't make himself move, he was frozen, curled into a ball with his arms over his head and this was it. He shut his eyes and tried to breathe, tried to… go someplace else. He wasn't sure what would happen if he died in Joshua's _imaginary extension of psych space,_ but he didn't want to find out, and he was pretty sure he was about to find out, and—

—And the shrieking rain had stopped, and none of it had hit him.

He opened his eyes half a second before the faintly glowing transparent shield around him—a shield he hadn't put there, he knew he hadn't—shimmered out. Stared numbly up at the contorted remains of a truck driven nose-first into the pavement, turned his eyes down to the pools of broken glass that had previously been headlights and windshield and mirrors. The shards stopped inches from his face.

He was shaking, head to toe; he wasn't sure if it was from fear, or from shock, or from an aftereffect of the light Joshua had hit him with, but he couldn't stop. He pushed himself up onto one elbow anyway, and twisted his head, and Joshua was there, just a few feet away, arms folded tightly around himself and his face a little paler than usual and his head slightly down. He met Neku's eyes for half an instant and then looked away again, looked for an instant like he was going to say something and then stopped, shook his head, turned away.

"Hey." Neku's voice was as wobbly as his limbs, but he managed to sit up; he was pretty sure he wasn't hurt any worse than some new scrapes and bruises, and those were pretty much old hat at this point. Anyway, this space wasn't real; they'd probably be gone when he woke. "I, uh."

His head was still reeling, and a part of him wanted to snap: _Holy shit, overreact much, Josh?_ Or haul himself to his feet and hit back, no matter how shaky he was, _keep going keep going keep going_ and lose himself in the fight, in the high of being angry and lashing out and not having to care who he hurt, because if there was one person who he couldn't possibly seriously hurt, wasn't capable of seriously hurting, it was Joshua. Joshua was above all that, Joshua didn't _get_ hurt—

_You jump into the Game for an adrenaline rush. You pick fights with angels just to see what they'll do._

His face landed in his hands, hard. Okay, yeah, if he was going to yell at Joshua for that shit, maybe he'd better take a long look at himself, too.

Joshua spoke up, his voice subdued. "You all right, Neku?"

Which, it occured to him, was the only thing—the _only_ fucking thing—he'd wanted Joshua to ask him all day, _just that._ Not like they didn't both know the answer, but just some kind of check-in to acknowledge that holy shit, he was kind of going through a lot right now. It would have taken a grand total of three seconds.

Coming from someone who had just almost dropped a truck on him, it rang a little hollow.

He was still shivering, wondered dully when he was going to stop. He didn't lift his head. "Stupid question, Joshua."

"Mm." There was a pause, the crunching of glass and rubble as Joshua picked his way closer through the wreckage, a faint creak and cloth sliding across metal as he found something to sit on, and then silence.

"If you're looking for another show to _entertain you_ ," Neku said eventually, voice still slightly muffled by his hands, "go ask the angels to let you watch Tin Pin reruns. I'm done for the day, Josh. You're not getting anything else."

Silence. No laugh, no snide comeback, just silence.

At last Joshua let out a long, quiet breath and said, slowly, "If you'd prefer we go our separate ways for the evening, Neku, we can do that, and I'll send you back to your room shortly. But I… needed to let you know, I'm not…"

For an instant there was a weird catch in his voice, almost a tremor, or at least that was what it would have been from somebody else, Neku thought tiredly. It was almost a scared sound, and maybe if Neku were a better person he'd have the energy to give a damn, but right now? From Joshua it was probably an act. Neku lifted his head and went back to staring at the broken glass haloed around the remains of the truck.

Another breath, and when Joshua continued he was back to his brisk, breezy, careless self. "Well. It looks like I may have to be out of touch for the next few days—possibly until they start the Game. I'm still Shibuya's Composer, even if I am under house arrest at the moment, and this whole business of them taking it off the board before our Game—there are a few logistical issues there, as you might imagine. I can't stop them taking it, but I do have a responsibility to see it's done safely." He chuckled dryly. "Everything adequately packed and labeled, as it were. All the glassware marked _handle with care._ And the people, for that matter. Tedious as hell, but there's no getting out of it, and I'm afraid it's going to take so much of my focus—"

And now Neku looked at him, because Joshua—his tone was right, glib as ever, but there was something… off. He was talking a little too quickly, maybe, and there was something like an echo of that momentary tremor flickering through the pact link in Neku's head, barely perceptible, muted under layers of indifference, but… there. If it were anyone else, anyone but Joshua… "Josh," Neku said quietly, tiredly.

Joshua glanced towards him and away. Something in his eyes wasn't quite right either, something unraveling, and abruptly it hit Neku, something Joshua had just said. _This whole business of them taking it off the board._ He'd heard similar words before—the angel had said it that morning, he remembered, talking about what they'd done to Beat, but he'd heard someone say something like it somewhere else, too.

Behind the last door he'd opened the previous night, the one he'd been so abruptly thrown out of.

… _No delight in needless cruelty. The upcoming alteration of the board will be difficult for you. If you would but open your mind to us…_

"—Just not going to be possible," Joshua was saying, "to divide myself between that and—"

_No delight in needless cruelty._

Joshua was Shibuya's Composer. Joshua was tied to Shibuya, in a way Neku had been granted a brief glimpse of the previous night but could still barely fathom. So if the angels were taking Shibuya _off the board—_ what was that going to do to Joshua?

" _Joshua._ " Neku rubbed his forehead, and realized tiredly that he hadn't asked, either. He'd been furious at Joshua for not asking, and he kind of still was, but… he hadn't asked either. "You all right?"

Another sharp glance-and-away. Joshua was silent for one breath, two, three, and then the words slipped out, low and quick and barely audible. "Please stay. Just for tonight. I—" He snapped his mouth shut on anything more; his brow furrowed, and for a moment he studied the middle distance like he was trying to solve a puzzle, and then he shook his head, drew a long breath, let it out. "Just for tonight."

Neku said nothing. He looked back at the broken glass and twisted metal and fractured pavement. Then he pushed himself to his feet, and made his way over to the upturned, mangled vending machine, and sat down, still silent, at Joshua's side.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna be a little longer of a wait. I am doing a fic for the TWEWY Bang this year (sort of a companion thing to Missing the Point) and I really want to get my first draft of that hammered out as much as possible before tackling the next chapter for this one.


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